


What Dreams May Come

by Ladybug_21



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 00:16:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 41,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8599534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladybug_21/pseuds/Ladybug_21
Summary: Post AWE.  When a certain former commodore arrives in the Locker, he accepts an offer from Calypso to be able to visit the woman he loves... as a part of her dreams.  [NB: This was the first fic that I ever wrote, over the course of one month back in 2007, and I'm really just posting it on AO3 for the sake of nostalgia, so please excuse any hilariously shoddy writing.]





	1. Prologue: Beckett's Threat

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published on FanFiction.net between July 9, 2007 and August 5, 2007. My teenage thoughts from that moment in time:
> 
> Hi Everyone! This is my very first fic (well, that I've ever published on at least), and I'm really excited! So I'm looking forward to any reviews that people have, only please make them constructive criticism and not just bashing, please, because I am a rather insecure writer. I began writing this fic after seeing POTC:AWE because I've always had a thing for Norrington, and when he died I was horribly depressed, to put it mildly. So I began writing to make myself feel better, and it's been rather therapeutic. As a warning, this is already rather long, but I encourage you still to please read and review, and enjoy!
> 
> Oh, and for those of you who wish to skip directly to the completely original part of the story, please go to Chapter 3: "The Boats." The first chapter is a conversation between James and Beckett right before James dies, and the second chapter is my take on James's death scene – however, I know that some people prefer to skip chapters like those and get onto the main action of the story.
> 
> Disclaimer: Much to my sorrow, I own none of this. Not the Black Pearl, not Will, and, sniff, not Norrie. So, Disney, please don't sue me...

James Norrington sat at his desk in his cabin, his forefinger rubbing his brow broodingly. His jacket and hat were draped over the back of his chair, his wig placed carefully on one side of the table next to his sword. Maps and papers were strewn across the battered table, along with ink-tipped quills and bars of sealing wax. A single candle cast a faint gold-orange glow over the face of the admiral; he seemed to be watching it flicker with every wave that bobbed the ship up and down, but his mind was elsewhere.

 _Know what? Which side you had chosen?_ she had said to him when he had insisted to her that he had not known about her father's death. _Well, now you know_. Elizabeth. The woman of his dreams. The last place he had expected to see her was here, in this aquatic mess of a ship, filled with its half-human sailor-beasts and ruled by a monster. James furrowed his brow. Until today, he would have said that monster was Davy Jones, the raspy-voiced man with a cephalopod for a head, but after today… He could not forget the look in Elizabeth's eyes when she told him that her father was dead. She was not lying to him. He could not remember a time when she had ever lied to him – withheld the truth, perhaps, but never outright lied. And her eyes had not betrayed any sense of uncertainty or deceit; they were filled with anger, a smoldering fire that not even the holds of this wretched ship could put out. James shivered to think of her, locked in one of those cold, damp cells with the rough-looking pirates she called her crew, her head held proud despite her captivity, refusing to let even one tear of defeat streak her grime-covered cheek.

A knock came on the door. James, lost in his thoughts, ignored it - whoever it was could wait until morning at least to wait for orders. But the intruder had no intention of waiting. The door handle turned, and in walked the man whom James wanted to see least that moment.

'Ah, Admiral,' drawled the arrogantly-bored voice that James had come to despise. 'I am sorry I did not wait for an answer.'

'Lord Beckett,' James said, rising to his feet without looking up. Cutler Beckett was examining the kelp-crusted walls with an air of bored indifference.

'Dreary lodgings they've given you, haven't they?' James said nothing. Beckett had tried to play this game with him before, trying to make him feel worthless for what he had been. 'Certainly a pity they didn't bother to give you anything better. I suppose you're not _important_ enough in their eyes. Why you would even have bothered to offer them to our hostage captain, I don't think I'll ever know.'

James stiffened – had everyone heard him offer his lodgings to Elizabeth, then? – and slowly sat back down, not looking at Beckett.

'But, then again, Admiral, you must have gotten used to this sort of lifestyle when you took your – ah – leave of absence from His Majesty's Navy.' Beckett smiled smugly as he took a seat. 'In fact, you must feel quite at home.'

'May I inquire as to the reason for this meeting, sir?' James said as evenly as he could through tightly-gritted teeth. His eyes had still never left the tabletop.

Beckett smirked. 'Impatient, as always, Norrington. You must have realized that I would not be so stupid as to ignore the fact that you were once engaged to marry Miss Swann… that is, until she fell in love with a blacksmith-turned-pirate.' James's hand was clenched so tightly that it was all he could do to keep from straying to his sword's hilt. 'Oh yes, that is reason enough to suspect treachery in my eyes, Admiral. And don't think I haven't heard the stories about how you let Jack Sparrow escape.'

'Let Jack Sparrow escape?' James spat. He finally raised his head, eyes blazing as he glared defensively at Beckett. 'Never.'

'Really.' Beckett leaned backwards idly in his chair. 'And I suppose that this is why you waited an entire day after his escape from Port Royal before beginning a pursuit?' James said nothing, but cast his eyes back down. Beckett smirked again. 'Funny. I would have thought that by now you would have realized that if you had only kept right behind that ship you might not have run into that hurricane off Tripoli, you might have come out of it all right in the end…' Beckett leaned forward again. 'Stop blaming Jack Sparrow for your defeat, Norrington. It wasn't his fault. It was yours. And I do hope you are grateful that, despite all of this evidence against you, I still let you return to your own position, even promoted you.'

James had had enough. He was sick and tired of Beckett taking every opportunity to remind him that he, Beckett, was the one in charge, and that everything James had recovered he owed to Beckett. 'I would say I was grateful if I had been promoted based on merit and my integrity, and not on the possession of an appropriate bribe,' he said coldly.

If Beckett was surprised at James's forwardness, he did not show it. 'Admiral Norrington, it is due to comments such as these, plus your past associations with pirates, that I am not at all convinced of your loyalty to the crown, or to me. But it must be said that I am a fair man, so I have come to warn you that at any sign of mutiny or such actions as would link you to an act of piracy, I will make sure that you will receive a fate far more horrible than permanent dismissal from His Majesty's Navy.'

James rose slowly from his seat, glaring steadily at Beckett and trying not to let his rage get the better of him. 'Oh, I don't doubt that, Beckett. I just wonder if you gave the same fair warning to Governor Swann… or are you only polite enough to give warnings when you are threatening armed men?'

Beckett stiffened, all semblance of friendliness long since gone. 'You would do best to watch yourself, Norrington,' he hissed ominously. 'Do not think I will forget this conversation between us.' Without another word, Beckett slid off his chair and strode out of the dingy cabin.

James watched him go, cursing Beckett's name and hoping he would die some slow and painful death at the hands of pirates before this whole mess was over. Then, quite suddenly, he realized the foolish mistake he had just made. Insulting Beckett… James sank onto his cot, slightly stunned upon the realization that he had just signed his own death warrant. If Beckett could order and execute the murder of Governor Swann, a respected and quite harmless man, how much easier would it be for a reckless admiral with former associations with pirates to meet a violent and accidental death out at sea?

James smiled a humorless smile. Well, he should have known that this was how it was going to end, and he almost didn't wonder if he deserved it. Why had it meant so much to him that he made his way back into the navy, when it had become infested with vermin like Beckett?

 _Well, now you know_ …

Before he knew exactly what he was doing, James had pulled on his coat and his wig, placing his hat firmly on top of his head. Grabbing his sword, he strode confidently out the door, buckling it round his waist as he made his way down the corridor.


	2. Prologue: A Last Moment

A surly looking pirate with a crab's head was stationed outside of the brig. He stared challengingly at James as the admiral approached the cells. 'What business have ye?' he rasped.

'I'm to take your shift,' replied James as nonchalantly as he could. Sometimes it paid to have trained oneself to be absolutely emotionless. 'Lord Beckett's orders.' The crab-headed man grunted, but did ask any questions, and scuttled off without even casting James a suspicious glare. James waited with baited breath until the last taps of the pirate's shoes had faded completely away before he took the key to the cells off of its hook and made his way down the row of cells.

Elizabeth and her crew were seated in one, arms crossed, a proud look on her face, just as James had imagined her. She wore her strange and dirty Chinese garments as proudly as a queen would have worn her finest robes, and James could not help but wonder how much she herself had changed, during the previous few months, from that bright young lady he knew back in Port Royal. She still was so beautiful, so spirited… and since Lord Beckett was sure to have him killed now no matter what he did, James was determined that his last act would be to ensure that she got off of this decaying ship. Praying that they would not be caught, James shoved the key into the rusty lock and turned it.

Elizabeth looked up at him as the door screeched open. Every moment now seemed more vivid to the doomed admiral, every movement she made something he wanted to take with him to whatever world there was after this one. 'Come with me,' he said, looking at her and gesturing slightly towards the deck with his head. 'Quickly!' he added when no one moved. The pirates, bewildered, waited for Elizabeth to give a nod of consent and began to force their way out of the cell's door and up the stairs into the night air – James could tell that they suspected a trap, but had no better option than to follow his orders.

As he turned to follow them, Elizabeth grabbed his arm. 'What are you doing?' she whispered, her face searching his suspiciously in the murky light. His eyes met hers, and he felt a shiver go up his spine. 'Choosing a side,' he said before turning and following the other pirates out of the brig.

* * *

The _Empress_ , the ship Elizabeth now claimed to be captain of was moored to the _Flying Dutchman_ by means of several thick ropes that were stretched between their decks. James stood watch, hand on sword hilt, as one by one the pirates clambered across the ropes to the deck of their own ship. Still regarding him suspiciously, Elizabeth jumped onto the deck next to James. He tried not to betray any sign of nerves in front of her.

'Do not go to Shipwreck Cove,' he warned her in a low voice as the rest of the pirates slid onto the ropes. 'Beckett knows of the meeting of the Brethren. I fear there may be a traitor among them.'

Elizabeth gave him a icy look. 'It's too late to earn my forgiveness.'

James swallowed. Could she not see how much he loved her, how much he was attempting to help her despite his obligation to the Navy? 'I had nothing to do with your father's death,' he said, staring her straight in the eyes to prove his sincerity. Her gaze bored accusingly into his, and he had to drop his eyes. 'That does not absolve me of my other sins.'

He wished he could tell her that this was the last time she would ever see him, that he would die happy knowing that she was safe, but he was afraid that she would respond with indifference, only one less romantic element in her life to sort out besides Turner and that wretched Sparrow. No, better to die pretending that she would really care, rather than to die knowing the truth…

'Come with us,' Elizabeth said suddenly. He looked up at her in surprise. 'James… come with me!'

That was one idea that had not yet occurred to him. Elizabeth looked at him pleadingly, and he thought his heart would break. He was about to say yes, when suddenly a voice from the upper deck shouted, 'Who goes there?!' Both James and Elizabeth look up in fear, James drawing his sword and throwing his arm out protectively between Elizabeth and the intruder. Creeping in the shadows was a half-man, half-sea creature that retreated from the deck and began to descend down to their level. _No_ , thought James in a panic, _this can't happen, not until Elizabeth is safe_ …

'Go!' he ordered Elizabeth in a barely controlled voice, his eyes still where the sailor had stood on the upper deck. 'I will follow.' An empty promise.

'You're lying!' she cried. James, taking courage from the imploring gaze she gave him, was suddenly reckless. _Just tell her that you love her_ , he thought. After all, Turner had done so when he had thought he was about to die during that ridiculous near-hanging of Sparrow's.

He turned to face her, knowing that it was too late to care whether or not she thought of him as a friend or as a nuisance. 'Our destinies have been entwined, Elizabeth, but never joined,' he said, staring into her eyes for the last time. _It was never meant to be_. Knowing he would never get another chance, James threw all caution to the winds. He leaned forward and, for the first and last time, kissed those impossibly sweet lips in a moment that seemed like an eternity. When he broke away, he knew he would now have no regrets at the moment of his death.

'Go, now!' he told Elizabeth, who still stood on the deck, an unreadable expression on her face. Turning to the door onto the deck, he felt the weight of his sword in his hand, the sword that William Turner had made for him.

The pirate slunk onto the deck as Elizabeth grasped a rope and swung herself onto it. 'Back to your station, sailor,' said James sternly, placing himself between Elizabeth and the pirate and pointing his sword at the man, though he knew stabbing a man already dead would do no good.

The old sailor was more sea-creature than man at this point, a knobby starfish obscuring half of his face, barnacles clinging to his skin. He looked in confusion at the sword with which James threatened him. 'No one leaves the ship,' he said to himself uncertainly.

'Stand down,' James repeated. He felt surprisingly calm considering the fact that there was no way he would get out of this alive. 'That's an order.'

The old pirate gave James a bleary look of confusion. 'That's an order,' he more sighed than said before blinking slowly and beginning to chant in a gradually crescendoing voice, 'Part of the crew, part of the ship…'

'Steady, man!' James shouted, knowing it was hopeless. And within seconds the deranged old pirate had shouted that the prisoners were escaping. 'Belay that!' he roared, pulling a pistol from his belt and cocking it at the pirate.

'James!' he heard Elizabeth scream behind him, and, turning back towards her flailing figure dangling from the rope, he felt his heart thumping madly in his chest – Elizabeth was not yet to the other deck, and James knew that whatever else happened, he would not, he could not let her die at the hands of Davy Jones and his crew.

James glanced at the old pirate, then back at Elizabeth, and he knew what he had to do. Before he could reconsider his choice, he fired, swiftly severing the link between the _Dutchman_ and Elizabeth's ship. He heard Elizabeth's shriek as she splashed into the water and hoped desperately that she was all right, when suddenly…

An impossibly sharp pain blossomed in James's chest as the mad old pirate drove a sharp spar of wood through the admiral. _So this is how it ends_ , thought James grimly, gritting his teeth and trying not to cry out. His senses dulling, he tried to keep himself upright and proud by gripping the railing of the deck, but even this proved too much, and he slowly slumped to the ground.

Somewhere through the shocked mutterings of the gathering crowd of crew members, in the back of his jumbled thoughts, James thought he heard Elizabeth scream his name.

His vision was beginning to go fuzzy, but a clunk that was slowly fading away in James's ears announced the arrival of Davy Jones. From what seemed like a great distance away, he heard that slimy voice rasp, 'James Norrington, do you fear death?' James had heard the question asked many times before, but it had never occurred to him that someday it might be asked to him, and the irony of the whole situation suddenly made him feel alive again with a mixture of rage and dark humour. For an instant, his senses cleared, and, although he knew it was no good, he reared up and drove his sword through the chest of Davy Jones. Then he collapsed, and was falling into a haze of nothingness something like sleep. The last words he heard were those of Davy Jones, who said somewhat smugly, 'I take that as a no,' before pulling from his chest the sword Will Turner had made and commenting, 'Nice sword.'


	3. Part I: The Voyage to the Locker - The Boats

James jolted awake, as if a bucket filled with icy water had just been poured over him. The sky was dark, and only a sliver of the moon cast light down upon the misty waters of the ocean. James groaned, the pain of dying ebbing slowly from his chest. He sat up, one hand massaging the throbbing spot where the pirate had pierced him with the spar, his other hand holding his hat on. What he saw around him made him start with surprise.

It certainly was not anything like he had been expecting. Hundreds of small rowboats bobbed upon the coal black waters of the ocean, small lanterns perched on each boat casting an eerie haze through the mist and an unearthly glow on the ghostly faces of the boats' passengers. James, shivering at the strangeness of it all, turned slowly to look around him, gripping the edge of the boat to lessen the pain that still pierced through him. Behind him was a boat with a pair of sailors, to his left was a boat with a small boy and his dog, and to the front was a tough-looking Chinese pirate (or, at least, his tattooed back looked tough – James couldn't really see any more of him than that). Finally, James turned to his right and gave a shocked gasp.

'Governor Swann!'

The ghost of Weatherby Swann turned his head slowly, the curly locks of his wig swaying from the rock of his boat. 'James? James Norrington?!'

'Yes, sir,' replied James crisply, leaning a bit farther over the edge of his boat and breaking into what seemed to him a ridiculously giddy smile. It was so nice to see at least one familiar face amidst all the gloom and uncertainty. The ghost smiled sadly at the deceased admiral.

'So. They got you too, James.'

_They_ was, of course, Beckett. The smile dropped from James's face, and he shook his head angrily. 'Sir, I'm sorry. What they did was unforgivable, and - ' he faltered for a moment, trying to find the right way to apologize for a crime that he had not committed '- and I pray you will believe me when I tell you I had no part in it.'

'I'm not blaming you, James,' the governor said with a small smile. 'I know you are a good and honest man, and you would have stopped it if you could. But it seems that man has gotten the better of all of us – you, me, and those poor, poor pirates…' He gave a small chuckle. 'Really, just listen, did you ever think I'd be sitting here, feeling sorry for the pirates!'

'Elizabeth would be proud of you.' James meant it somewhat in jest, but in a strange way thought it might be true. The thought of Elizabeth was like a burst of warmth through the frigid sea air and it made him feel more prepared to face whatever lay ahead.

'Ah, Elizabeth,' sighed Governor Swann. He scratched at his wig ruefully, his face drooping. 'By now I don't doubt that Beckett has managed to execute her, if not get rid of her through blatant murder…'

James smirked. 'Well, he _nearly_ pulled off one or the other...'

Governor Swann started. 'What?' he asked urgently. 'Have you seen her? Do you know if she's all right?'

'I should hope she is. I… died getting her off of the _Flying Dutchman_.' It was a strange statement, James decided, to be talking about his own death in the past tense. Governor Swann, meanwhile, clapped his hands in relieved joy.

'Bless you, James, I always knew you would have taken good care of her!' the governor began, and then stopped, embarrassed, when he saw the admiral's face fall.

'Too late for that now,' said James softly to the wavelets lapping up against his boat. He looked up, realizing that his boat was even now drifting farther and farther away from the governor's. 'Governor Swann!'

The governor looked up, smiled sadly again, and gave a small wave.

'Take care of yourself, Admiral!' he called before fading away into the mist. James cursed to himself, wondering if he would ever again see the governor (or anyone else he knew, for that matter).

* * *

The days wore on. James spent most of his time intensely bored, imagining what had befallen Elizabeth, and trying not to suspect the worst. The pain in his chest had faded to a dull pulse that annoyed but did not seer unless he became too angry about something.

To his surprise, he saw very few people he knew. A few of his old men, who tipped their hats to him and called, 'You too, Admiral?' before floating away. A schoolmate who had drowned at the shore back in England. His old swordsmaster, who nodded approvingly at James's admiral uniform before drifting away.

Once he even saw his mother and little sister, both of whom had died when he was a boy. 'Mum!' he shouted. 'Virginia!' The pair turned and stared at him for a moment, and, to James's delight, his boat began to drift closer.

'James!' whispered Mrs. Norrington, who had not seen her son since he was ten. She took in his uniform and looked at his face, and her eyes welled up with tears. 'Oh James, just look at you – all grown up, a handsome young admiral…' She clasped her hands.

'Jamie?' gasped Virginia, who had died at the age of seven. 'You're so old!'

'Hush, now,' admonished her mother as James began to chuckle. 'What happened to you, James? How did you end up… down here?'

James grinned. 'I died defending the woman I love from the squidy bloke who's supposed to be ferrying us to the Locker, and from the most evil scalawag the East India Trading Company's ever seen…' He threw a mischievous glance at Virginia, who was listening wide-eyed for the name of this monster. 'Cutler Beckett!'

'Cutler Beckett?' repeated his mother in amazement, shaking her head. 'Always too ambitious for his own good, that man…'

'He was the smarmy one Dad was always complaining about, wasn't he, Mum?' Virginia piped in.

'And he killed you?' Mrs. Norrington said in disbelief.

'Well, not personally.' James shrugged. 'I don't think he'd find me important enough. But he was the reason we ended up on the ship of Davy Jones, and _that's_ where I died.'

'And…' James's mother paused. 'Your father?'

'Dead.' James decided to withhold the reasons why.

'So that makes all of us!' exclaimed Virginia. 'All the Norringtons drifting about forever in little boats… except didn't you say you died defending your _wife_?'

James shook his head. 'No, Ginny,' he sighed. 'I wish she had been, but she wasn't.'

The boats were beginning to drift apart. James reached out a hand and grasped his mother's briefly. 'Take care, James dear,' she said, trying to smile through her tears. Virginia waved. And then they were lost in the fog.


	4. Part I: The Voyage to the Locker - Hope Arrives

Nothing changed for the people in the boats. The sky would brighten, then darken; the sea, if that was really what it was, was always so still that the stars reflected off it like a mirror, unmoving and cold. Once James, figuring he had nothing to lose, stuck his hand into the water to see if he could possibly row himself in whatever direction he chose to, but as soon as his hand touched the icy surface, the place where the mad old pirate had stabbed him began to burn with such a piercing pain that even after he pulled his hand out of the water he remained lying on the bottom of his boat with his teeth gritted in agony for a good two days.

He stopped looking for people that he knew. It was too depressing to see more and more of his men, in their smart uniforms, sitting helplessly in their boats, having died for who knew what selfish whim of Beckett's. And then he stopped caring. It was obvious to him by this point that everyone would eventually die.

At long last, after what seemed like an eternity, something finally happened. James had been lying on his back, watching the clouds in the sky turn into figures that looked first like his old boat and then like his wig, when an eerie feeling made him sit up. He looked about him in confusion, not sure whether to be pleased or wary at this change in the atmosphere, and then he saw him. Cutler Beckett. James could have laughed out loud; revenge was indeed sweet. As Beckett's boat drew nearer, James tipped his hat sarcastically at him.

'Lord Beckett,' he half sneered, a vengeful smile playing about his lips. 'I must admit, I'm rather surprised that Jones didn't send you straight to the Locker… heaven knows, you certainly deserve it more than most…'

Beckett looked about in alarm, and then spotted James. 'You!' he sputtered in rage and fear. 'What are you doing here?'

'What, you mean no one told you?' James raised one eyebrow at the enraged little man. 'Davy Jones, your latest tool, had one of his crustacean-covered pirates spear me through the middle before he tried impressing me into his crew.' An arrow of pain shot through James's invisible wound; he knew he was getting too angry and made every attempt to calm himself down.

'Norrington, I may have overlooked a few obvious things in this whole pirating business, but the fact that you are a traitor and died helping prisoners escape has been made perfectly clear to me,' snarled Beckett. Both his wig and his hat were slightly askew – James wondered why. 'And it's thanks to you and your wretched friends that I ended up here.'

'Oh, really,' said James in interest. Perhaps he'd be able to find out what had happened to Elizabeth. 'If Jones doesn't send _them_ to the Locker, I'll be sure to thank them. I'm sure most everyone else down here would too. Oh, by the way, did I mention Governor Weatherby Swann sends you his regards?'

Beckett turned red. 'You… you…' he spluttered apoplectically.

'What?' asked James casually. 'Not so brave down here, are you, not knowing how long you'll be floating around, surrounded by your enemies, are you?'

Beckett shook his head. 'Not for long,' he breathed triumphantly. 'Jones is dead. Turner has control of the _Dutchman_ now, and you can bet he won't want to be spoiling his looks and turning all cephalopod… ergo, I'd be shocked if he didn't turn up in a few days to carry us all away to this Locker, or whatever it's called…'

James was more than a little surprised. 'Oh, so you really expect me to believe that Turner would have given up the love of his life, cut out his very heart, just to sail the seas forever?' James tried to sound nonchalant, but found it rather difficult as his heart had started beating more quickly than normal at the thought of Elizabeth. 'Sounds much more like the kind of thing that Sparrow would do in my opinion…'

'Kindly do not ask me to explain to you the love lives of pirates, Norrington – that's your area of expertise, not mine,' snapped Beckett. James flinched almost imperceptibly. 'All I know is that when our armada was on the brink of destroying all the pirates forever, the _Dutchman_ was somehow… sucked into a maelstrom, or something of the sort… by your dear friends aboard the _Black Pearl_ , and when it finally had the audacity to bob back up to the surface, it was being sailed by Turner and his lot, and - ' Beckett sputtered a bit more in rage before finding the right words ' – and then both the _Dutchman_ and the _Pearl_ broadsided the _Endeavour_ and, well…' He scratched his neck absently, gazing off into space in a most disgruntled manner. James grinned in pleasure at the image of Beckett being blown into smithereens by the people who hated him most, and wished he had been there on the deck at Elizabeth's side as it had happened…

'Well, cheers.'

'Don't get smart with me, Norrington.'

'Haven't you forgotten, Beckett? We're dead. You're not my commanding officer any more, and there's nothing you can do to hurt me.' James smirked. 'In fact, I'd be more worried about yourself than me, seeing as your last act on earth was to try to kill Turner and his friends… I do hope he doesn't let you onto the _Dutchman_ when he comes to pick the rest of us up…'

The boats were floating away from each other. James sincerely hoped that this would be the last he would ever see of Cutler Beckett, even if Turner was merciful enough to ferry him to the Locker. He waved his hat mockingly at Beckett, who was leaning as far out of his boat as he could go and half shouting threats across the water.

'Don't be offended, Beckett. It wasn't anything personal… just good business.'

Beckett stood up in anger; his boat tipped, and Beckett went flying into the water, emerging with a splutter and clutching his head in agony as he righted his boat and clambered back in. James chuckled under his breath to himself as the scene faded slowly into the fog.

* * *

The next day, when James awoke from a dreamless sleep, he again felt a change in the air. In all of the boats around him, the ghosts were whispering in excitement to each other, and a great shout went suddenly up. James looked about, and then saw the cause of their joy: spurred on by a breeze that hailed from the north, the looming outline of the _Flying Dutchman_ was growing larger against the horizon. James grinned. Leaning against the railing of his ship, a bandanna tying his hair off of his face, was William Turner, surveying the mass of boats with a steady gaze. _Never thought I'd be glad to see him_ , thought James, _but, if it means getting out of this mess_ …

'Women and children in the first ferrying!' shouted Turner to the mass of souls in boats that were all squabbling to get onto the first ferry. 'Who's been here the longest?'

James sighed. Ferrying the souls of all the people who had died over the past who knew how many decades… this was going to take months. He decided to wait it out as long as he needed to – Turner was right, women and children did have the right to go the first round. He watched as a mass of petticoats and their offspring crowded onto the boat and wondered if his mother and sister were among them. He hoped so. As the _Dutchman_ sailed towards the south, he joined in with the men waving goodbye to the figures standing on the deck.


	5. Part I: The Voyage to the Locker - Old Ghosts

Judging from the vast number of dead, James figured it would be nearly a year until his turn to go to the Locker, but chance shortened his wait. It was the seventh day that the _Dutchman_ had been ferrying souls back and forth to the Locker. The now-familiar sight of the ship cutting across the horizon never failed to cheer James, as he looked forward to seeing the happy faces of the people who were being rescued that day. As he watched the ship loom above his boat and saw a group of women clamber thankfully on board, he was surprised to hear a voice yell, 'Norrington!' Looking up, he saw Will Turner beckoning him up. James shrugged, and, feeling slightly guilty, climbed up the rope ladder that was thrown down to him with an apologetic grin.

When he reached the deck of the ship, James realized that perhaps a bit of caution was in order – after all, the last time he had seen Turner, they had been sword fighting on top of a giant rolling wheel, trying to kill each other (and Sparrow) for possession of Davy Jones's key. And, James reminded himself, that is how they had both gotten into this mess in the first place, because if he, James, hadn't stolen the heart of Davy Jones and given it to Beckett…

Suddenly, coming up to the deck of the _Flying Dutchman_ did not seem like such a good idea. James gritted his teeth and expected the worst when he turned to face the captain of the _Flying Dutchman_.

'Mr Turner,' James said without quite looking the man in the eyes, 'you seem to have come into the possession of an extraordinary ship – well done. I trust you'll put it to much better use than its last owner.'

Will Turner nodded. 'Admiral Norrington,' he replied coolly.

James shook his head at the irony. 'Not an admiral any longer, thank you,' he corrected Turner politely. 'I think that even if I happened to be alive and with a good ship to sail, I should choose to rid myself of that title.' He finally was able to meet Turner's eyes. 'I'm sorry. I should not have tried to take the key from you. Your motives were far more pure than mine… and I regret that it was my foolishness that has gotten us into this current situation.' He stopped, biting the inside of his lip and hoping that Turner wouldn't throw him off of the ship permanently for this reminder.

Instead, Turner smiled hesitantly. 'Even if you had given me the key, it would have turned out no different,' he said, and held out his hand for James to take. 'You died to save Elizabeth,' he said quietly. 'I would have to forgive you for that, even if for nothing else.'

James looked down and nodded, swallowing a repressed sigh. 'Is she…' he began, and had to swallow again before he could go on '…is she all right?' Turner nodded. James gave an involuntary sigh of relief and smiled. 'Thank you,' he whispered, not looking at Turner, who let go of his hand and began to make his way to the back of the ship. 'Mr Turner,' James heard him call, 'are we ready to set sail?'

James turned in some confusion, wondering if Turner had begun to talk to himself. Then he spotted the man at the helm. And James Norrington, for the first time since his death, was very afraid.

The man at the helm smiled placidly back at James, a bit puzzled as to why the ex-admiral looked as though he had just seen the Ghost of Christmas Past. As he began to steer the boat southwards towards the Locker, the old pirate grinned and said, 'No need to look so fearful there, sir. You're dead, there's naught that can hurt you now, especially not me.' He furrowed his brow slightly. 'Have we met?'

James leaned over the edge of the railing, looking down on all of the people floating in boats below him. 'Yes,' he replied stiffly, 'twice.'

_He is a young boy of eleven, crossing from England to the Caribbean for the first time with his father, a commodore in the Royal Navy who has just gotten a post at Port Royal in Jamaica. He idolizes his father, who is his role model, his teacher, and the only family he has left, since his mother and sister both perished from consumption back in England. On the ship, he is proud of his new fine uniform and powdered wig, and the triangular black hat that fits on top of it, just like his father's. He is especially proud of how everyone respects his father on the boat, and how they all tip their hats to him and call him 'Master Norrington,' because it makes his father proud. He will do anything to please his father; when his mother and sister died, he even made himself not cry because his father thought it was weakness to show any emotion other than anger, and even that in moderation._

_But when they are nearly to the island, everything goes wrong. One night, a night where there is not a star in the sky but the moon is huge and round like a staring eye, he awakes from a dream about England to find himself in the middle of a nightmare. Frantic screams from above deck signal the coming of the pirates, and he smells fire burning, watches its golden-red flicker through his window. Across the room, his father has already leapt from his bed and is pulling on his boots and sword. 'James, stay here,' he orders calmly, slapping on his wig and his hat before pulling the door open and going outside._

_James runs to the door and puts his ear to it, his whole body shaking. In the corridor outside, there are shouts and yells, some panicked, some eager. Suddenly, he hears his father give a cry, and, even though he is not supposed to, he throws open the door, and stops in horror._

_A rough-looking pirate has disarmed his father, who is now sporting a deep cut on his leg. The pirate advances on the wounded man, who, although facing his death, never lets his defiant gaze drift from his enemy's. As the pirate's arm pulls back to deliver the fatal thrust, the boy cannot help it and screams, 'Father!'_

' _James!' barks his father, more fearful for his son than for himself. The boy wants to run or to shut his eyes, but he cannot leave his father, cannot let his father know that he is afraid even in his father's death. He pulls his small sword from its scabbard and holds it warily at his side, knowing he is no match for the pirate. He realizes he is probably going to die, but he wants his father to be proud of him until the very end. He takes a deep breath, trying to will himself not to cry._

_But, miraculously, the pirate does not deliver the thrust to his father's chest. He stares at the young boy, who, although trembling in his miniature uniform and his hat that does not quite fit, does not lower his eyes and stares straight at the pirate. And he lowers his sword. He stares down at the man bleeding on the floor and shakes his head. 'You've got a brave son there,' he says in a husky voice. He smiles at the boy._

_And, sheathing his sword, he bounds out of the corridor and up the stairs._

Will Turner, having noticed that James was talking to the helmsman, returned to give introductions. 'Ah, well I see you've already met. This,' he said, gesturing with his hand, 'is Admiral James Norrington, who, despite his title, is actually a good and decent man.' James didn't have it in him to even attempt a smile. 'And this,' said Will, who took the admiral's lack of humor for an excess of formality, 'is my father, Bootstrap Bill Turner.' He clapped the helmsman on the arm, who in turn gave the admiral a small smile and a wave.

James felt as though the ship were suddenly sinking away beneath him. So now not only had Will Turner stolen Elizabeth from him, but this Bootstrap Bill, Turner's father, was responsible for the deaths of both James and his father. It was too much to bear. James suddenly felt most unsympathetic for anyone even remotely connected to the Turners and turned slowly on Will with a very forced smile frozen to his face.

'So, tell me,' he said, 'were you aware that your father is the one who sent me down to this godforsaken no man's land in the first place? Were you aware of the fact that when I was helping Elizabeth escape from that wretched ship, which I might remind you she was on only because of your ridiculous and irrational behaviour in trying to save your father, that same father you were trying to save, that man right there…' James pointed an accusing finger that trembled with rage at the bewildered helmsman '…not only called the alarm on your fiancée and her entire crew of pirates, but also skewered me as thoroughly as if I was a wild pig and left my soul at the mercy of Davy Jones…'

James's anger reached a boiling point, and with it came the horrible pain that seared through his body, more horribly than ever. James gasped and slid to the floor of the deck, his back pressed against the railing and his chest heaving with the effort of not crying out. He looked up, only to see Will Turner looking at him with a very concernedly, and Bootstrap with a terrible look of dawning realization on his face.

'God, no,' whispered the old pirate, clutching the wheel of the ship in his horror. 'What have I done?' He walked slowly to the side of the gasping admiral and bent down. 'Yes,' Bootstrap whispered, staring at James's face with widening eyes, 'yes, that's right… you were freeing the prisoners…' He closed his eyes. 'And that was Elizabeth... Oh Will, forgive me, how could I have been so _stupid?!_ '

Will shook his head. 'You didn't know. You'd never met her.'

'But I recognized her!' Bootstrap stood up, turning to Will in panic. 'She said she knew you… she said it… why didn't I remember? What came over me when… when I followed them to the deck, and…'

'And killed me?' James coughed, using the railing to struggle to his feet. His eyes blazed. 'I notice that no one has even bothered to apologize for ruining my life, and I blame no one more than the two of you (except, of course, Beckett and Sparrow).' The two Turners gaped for minute, quite unsure of how to react. James gasped again, then shook an accusing finger at the pair as best as he could while trying not collapse from the pain. 'I've had enough of you, both of you,' he seethed. 'When we get to the Locker, I give you full permission to throw me headlong off this bloody ship, just so you can have one last laugh at me as I swim to shore.' With great difficulty, he staggered away from the helm and down to an empty cabin, where he slammed the door and tried his best not to keep from screaming with rage.

It was all just so _unfair_. James really did hate being dead. Especially since Turner (that being Will, not Bootstrap) still would be able to see Elizabeth once every ten years – not very often, but at least he still would. And he, James, had _died_ for Elizabeth. Didn't that count for anything? _Why_ was fate so cruel?

James got about three minutes of solitude before door opened, and in walked Turner, who sat down in the chair across from the table. James turned away sullenly. 'Turner, I am not in any mood to be bothered by anyone at this moment, and least of all you' he growled through gritted teeth.

'Commodore, just hear me out, all right?' said Will, forgetting about the admiral's promotion in his agitation. He grabbed James by his shoulder and James reluctantly glared in Will's general direction. 'My father was driven mad on Davy Jones's ship. His very soul was being slowly sucked out of him, and whatever he may have done to you, on my honor I swear to you that he did not do it in his right mind. Please…' Turner bit his lip, looking down at his shoes apologetically, and James suddenly realized that Turner hadn't changed much from the scrawny boy he had picked up from the shipwreck during that crossing from England. 'Could you please forgive him? The whole matter has… hurt him deeply.'

'And why could he have not come to apologize for himself?' said James acidly.

'Who says I haven't?' a raspy voice whispered from the door. Bootstrap walked into the room timidly. He whispered something to Will, who nodded and left, closing the door behind him. 'Admiral… if I could take back what I've done, I would take back a lot of things, this included. I… I truly was not in my right mind.' James remembered the savage chanting, and nodded stiffly. 'You may not believe me,' continued Bootstrap haltingly, 'but although I always have been and always will be a pirate, I have never killed anyone unless it was my life or theirs, and I have never liked killing innocent people…'

'I know,' James said quietly, cutting Bootstrap off. 'You spared me once before. My father's ship… you attacked it, and were going to kill him, but you stopped when you saw me.' He sighed. 'I suppose I have your son to thank for that sudden change of heart, don't I?'

'Ah.' Bootstrap sighed. He looked at James for a long moment pensively. 'Yes, I suppose you do. I was imagining what it would have been like if it had been me on the floor there, and it was my son about to watch me being killed.' He smiled faintly. 'You might find this strange, but I never met William until a few months ago, and since I'd never met him… well, after that night, I always imagined him looking like you. And after I finally met him, I couldn't help but wonder a bit what had happened to that boy whose face he had worn in my imagination for so long.' He broke off, slightly embarrassed. James took in the irony of the situation.

'So, Admiral,' said Bootstrap finally, breaking the silence. 'I may have killed you, but I never wanted you dead. And I'll grant that you have every right to be angry with me right now - I just pray you'll forgive me some day.' And with that, Bootstrap rose and left the cabin quietly, leaving James no less angry but slightly less vengeful.

* * *

Within the next sunrise, the ship had reached the barren seacoast of the Locker. James, who had been awoken by cheers when the ship reached her final destination, climbed back onto the deck, where he stood watching the women around him hug each other goodbye and shepherd their children off of the boat.

'Turner.' Will, who had been staring off into the distance with his forearms leaning against the railing, turned and greeted the ex-Admiral with a nervous nod. They had not spoken since the previous evening. James stood next to Will, leaning against the railing and staring into the distance as Will had been.

'Is your father all right?' James began awkwardly.

Will could not quite conceal a relieved smile. 'Yes, thank you.'

James slowly exhaled a breath he had not known he had been holding. The two men stood in silence for a moment, thinking about the same woman off on an unreachable shore. 'So, what happens now?' said James finally.

'You have two choices, Admiral. One: You go into the Locker and, when you're ready, drink from the Waters of Oblivion; your soul then forgets all it ever knew and is returned to another being in the world of the living. Two: You can join my crew and sail the seas until whenever you see fit to stop. It's your choice.'

James scratched his chin. He had to admit that Turner really wasn't such a bad person, and would probably make quite a good captain (much better than Jones, at any rate). But there was that one little issue when it came to Elizabeth, and James wasn't sure if he really wanted to put up with a gnawing sense of insane jealousy every time he saw Turner staring off into the distance for the rest of eternity.

'I have no doubt you'll do a fine job of running this ship, Mr. Turner, but I must refuse your offer,' said James, a good amount of his old admiral tone creeping back into his voice as he tried not to make his admiration for Turner's skills as captain too apparent.

Will sighed. 'I thought as much,' he admitted. 'You'd have been a great help on board, but it's probably best if we go our separate ways.'

He held out his hand, which James took.

'Good luck to you, Admiral Norrington.'

'Good luck, Captain Turner.' It sounded a bit funny to James, but it was the proper thing to call him now, and a little voice in the back of James's head scolded him briefly for not having followed protocol from the second he climbed aboard the ship. The second before Will pulled his hand away, James leaned forward.

'Take care of her,' he whispered into Will's ear. Will nodded, his eyes not meeting James's, before James broke away and headed for the nearest boat to shore.


	6. Part II: In Dreams - Calypso's Agreement

The Locker was nothing like James had been expecting.

A sandy beach stretched for miles in either direction, no sign of grass or any other life. The only thing that broke the stark continuity of the beach was the wreck of some poor vessel (Chinese from the looks of the markings, James decided), looking for all the world as if it had fallen down an immense waterfall and been smashed to pieces. The heat was stifling; he wiped his brow with his sleeve, surprised that the shipwreck was not just a mirage after all. The sun's rays beat down upon the golden-white sand and rebounded harshly back up again. About a hundred stretches away from the soggy border between land and sea, an imposing dune rose up against the white-blue sky. All the colors seemed slightly bleached, washed out by the intensity of the sun. James watched as the women and children climbed over the dune, hand in hand, clambering up its steep slope with difficulty in skirts and breeches. Seeing as there was nowhere else to go, he shrugged and began to follow the crowd working its way up the dune.

'Now, where do you think you might be going, James Norrington?'

James paused – the voice was not like that of any he had heard, yet it had unmistakably just called him by his name. He paused, turning back towards the ocean. No one was in sight.

'Hello?' he called, feeling just a bit silly.

Then, quite suddenly, a very beautiful and fashionably dressed woman appeared out of nowhere, right in front of his eyes. Her eyes were dark and murky like the sea, her hair thick and wavy, and her skin was a dark bronze. She was clothed in a corseted dress made of shimmering blue silk. James blinked in surprise, feeling quite confused and rather awkward at his unkempt uniform.

'I suppose it was you who called me just now,' he said, sweeping off his hat with a low bow that was just the right height to keep his wig from falling off, 'Lady…?'

The strange woman laughed a quiet and refined laugh. James could not help but notice that she looked too well and alive to have been one of the women off of the boats – plus, he did not remember seeing her on the ship.

'Admiral, there is no need to give me such a name, for I have enough amongst men and do not need another.' The mysterious woman gave an enigmatic smile. 'Perhaps you have heard stories told of me using one of the names I already possess… Calypso?'

There was a time when James would have laughed at this woman for trying to claim that she was the legendary goddess of the sea… but in the past year, he had fought against undead pirates, commanded half-sea-creatures, lost and gotten back his job with a promotion, and even started a drunken bar fight on the rowdiest island he knew of. Although skeptical, he decided to go along with the notion until something either proved or disproved it. 'Charmed,' he said, kissing her hand.

The woman laughed, her brown eyes twinkling. 'Such manners,' she sighed. 'Not so common amongst pirates, but it seems even less so amongst the British Navy.' She tilted James's chin up with her hand, stared at him for a brief moment, and then smiled knowingly. With her eyes still on James, the lady pulled out a lace fan and began waving it lazily; James, to his surprise, felt gusts of cool, salty wind issue from the fan, and he worked to show no surprise.

'Would you mind,' said the goddess casually, 'if I changed out of these clothes? Corsets are especially dreadful when worn in hot weather.' James gave her a look of extreme surprise, not knowing whether to leave to give her privacy or not, but in the next minute, the lady was inexplicably gone, replaced by a rather wild looking woman wrapped in a tattered dress. James blinked in surprise when he realized that it was the same woman, only with dreadlocks and tattoos.

The goddess gave the admiral a smile devoid of oral hygiene. 'You believe me now, James Norrington?' she said with a thick accent. James could think of no other response than to bow again. The goddess laughed.

'You are probably wonderin' why I be talkin' here wid you,' she said. It was not a question, and James did not interrupt. 'Very well. I be watchin' you all dis while, an' I see how you freed Missus Turner.'

'Miss Swann, don't you mean,' corrected James, his heart sinking. The goddess shook her head, a smile somewhere between sympathy and vengeance lurking about her lips.

'I say what I mean,' she said simply. _Damn it_ , thought James, hoping that this conference would end soon and he would have a chance to get over this nasty turn of events alone. He stared determinedly at the ground, willing himself to be emotionless.

'I will let you go soon enough,' said Calypso, calmly reading his thoughts. 'But what I have to say might be of use to you. I know dat Missus Turner be quite lonely, wid her husband out at sea for ten years. She be needin' a friend, someone she can trust…'

James felt a strange jolt of hope in his stomach. 'You mean, I can go back?' he said, trying not to sound too eager at the possibility. Calypso shook her head.

'I mean you can spend one hour's worth of time each year wid her, in her dreams.'

James blinked. 'Pardon me?' he asked, slightly confused. It was hard enough trying to understand the goddess's accent, but when she was saying things that didn't make much sense, he couldn't take any chances of having misunderstood.

'When she be asleep,' repeated the goddess a mite impatiently, 'you can speak wid her within her dreams, but only as a part of her dream.'

James breathed. It wasn't quite as good as being alive again, granted, but it was certainly far better than nothing. 'One hour's worth of time each year… for how many years?'

Calypso shrugged. 'That be your choice, Mistah Norrington. Whenever you decide it be your time to drink from de Waters of Oblivion and move on to your next life, that be when you move on. But that will be only when you know you are done wid dis life.'

James had no idea what she was talking about, but figured he would get a clearer idea of the whole matter as events unfolded. Rather spontaneous. James smiled to himself. For some reason, he couldn't help but wonder if this was how Sparrow felt most of the time.

'Fair enough,' he said warily, 'but how is this time to be split up? And what is the price?'

Calypso waved her hand impatiently in the air. 'You may spend as much or as little time during a given meeting, but that is for you and her to decide. As for the price…' The goddess frowned very slightly for a moment. 'The price is set, and you yourself will choose it when the time is right, but you will not know what it be till then. So, even knowing dis, will you accept?' She turned to James, who was weighing the situation carefully in his mind.

'Why are you doing this for me?' he asked, a bit more rudely than he had anticipated. 'I doubt that every soul that arrives on these shores receives such favors.'

She turned her face out towards the sea wistfully. 'I was once in love wid a man who loved me,' she said softly, her voice like the ripples on a lake. 'But we betrayed each other, and that betrayal led to both of our destructions.' She turned back towards the thoroughly bewildered James. 'But would it make more sense to you if I said dat the woman you freed, she held one of the pieces of eight dat allowed me to escape my earthly body?'

James thought he maybe had a sense of what was going on, even though he had no clue what a piece of eight was, nor what the goddess meant by her 'earthly body.' It was obvious that Elizabeth had helped Calypso with something, and that Calypso was trying to thank James for having saved Elizabeth. Again, James felt quite relieved that the goddess had not blamed him for Elizabeth's captivity in the first place. And at the thought of Elizabeth, James knew he could not resist the offer.

'Madam, I accept your offer,' he said, throwing caution to the winds. 'And I thank you kindly.'

Calypso smiled. 'Ah, you an' your charmin' manners,' she sighed, and then disappeared.


	7. Part II: In Dreams - An Encounter on the Beach

James felt himself falling through a dark abyss. To his surprise, he felt next to no alarm; he supposed that the unexpectedness of things had worn off since all his dealings with pirates had started. Again, to his surprise, he felt little concern at the fact that he was now comparing himself to pirates. In fact, he almost rather enjoyed the notion.

The next thing he knew, he had landed quite softly on a sandy beach. Gulls circled and cawed overhead, the wind whirred through sea grasses, and the waves gurgled and lapped at the shoreline. It was almost sunset; the sky was a deep navy that faded into bands of gold and pink shot across the horizon. And, walking along the beach in dirty pirate's clothes was Elizabeth, kicking up wet globs of sand as she went.

James watched her draw near, wondering whether it was better to wait for her to notice him or to approach her himself. He decided upon the former, and sighed as he watched strands of her loose hair fly about her face with the wind.

Quite suddenly, she saw him.

'James,' she gasped, freezing in her tracks.

'Elizabeth,' he replied, nodding and rising to his feet. He was feeling less and less sure of what to do, and was hoping very much that he wouldn't do anything brash when suddenly he found her in his arms all of her own accord.

'Oh James, why didn't you follow me?' She sobbed into his shoulder. 'You promised you would, you promised, and then… I couldn't help but feel it was my fault…'

So she really did care. James felt his heart lifting. He gently peeled Elizabeth from his shoulder and smiled reassuringly at her tearful face. 'It wasn't your fault,' he said softly. 'It was mine. I made the choice not to follow.'

'But why?' Her lower lip was trembling slightly – James had to look away before answering.

'Why?' He asked himself as much as answered her. 'Because Beckett would surely have caught us, and I would have had to watch him kill you. Because I still can't quite reconcile myself to the idea of becoming a pirate, of thieving and plundering and killing innocent people. Because… because I knew that you were in love with _him_ , and if I went with you it would be like dying every time I saw the two of you together.' He broke off, realizing he had said too much. Elizabeth stiffened in his embrace and pulled away slightly.

'Oh, James…' she said softly, not meeting his eyes. James cursed himself as Elizabeth sank down to sit on the sand, arms wrapped around her knees. 'I'm married now, you know?' She said, looking up at him. He couldn't read the expression in her eyes.

'Yes,' he said, sinking down to sit beside her.

'And I'm carrying his child.'

James looked at her in a mixture of surprise and pain. 'Oh,' he said as calmly as he could. 'Congratulations.'

The two stared out at the ocean for a minute in a very awkward silence.

'Elizabeth, I…'

'Yes?'

James rubbed his forehead. 'I'm sorry,' he said lamely. 'I should not have said anything.'

She shrugged.

'I suppose I owe you an explanation as to why I'm here.'

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. 'I already know. I'm asleep and dreaming about you, though for what reason I really couldn't say, because in all reality it would be best if I were dreaming about my husband…' She slapped the sand in frustration. 'This is so improper!'

James bit back a laugh. Here was Elizabeth, a pirate, trying to tell him that the situation was improper! 'It's not your fault, if that makes you feel any better,' he reassured her. 'There was this sea goddess… Calypso… and when I arrived at the Locker, she said that you… that I… she said…'

Elizabeth laughed shakily. 'You know, I haven't seen you this awkward since you tried to propose to me that time.'

James looked down bashfully, feeling himself flush. 'That was a long time ago, wasn't it?' he said softly, wistfully.

Elizabeth smiled. 'You had only just been promoted to commodore. I remember, that day up at the fort… you were wearing a new suit positively covered in gold brocade, and I was wondering how you managed not to faint in the middle of the ceremony because it was so hot that day…' James suppressed a laugh – Elizabeth of all people, would remember how hot and stuffy it had been that day, wouldn't she? 'But, fortunately, you didn't collapse, and you maintained a very professional attitude throughout, and it ended up being a very proper ceremony indeed.'

'And then Sparrow popped up and bloody ruined everything.'

'He saved my life!'

'And then threatened to kill you, to save himself!' James sighed in frustration. 'I assume he managed to survive this whole accursed business, even if Beckett and Jones didn't.' _And me_ , he thought grumpily.

'He did.'

'Damn.'

'James!'

'I'm sorry.' James sighed again. 'I suppose I should really stick to protocol, regardless of the fact I'm dead. I'm not behaving at all like a gentleman, am I?'

Elizabeth laughed. 'Hang the protocol, hang the rules. They're more like guidelines, anyway. You always were far too concerned with manners, James.' She paused. 'I don't think I'd ever seen you looking better than when we picked you up off of Tortuga.'

James snorted. 'You thought I looked better as a rum-soaked drunkard than as a gentleman?'

'Well, not the rum so much. But with the wig off, you really did look much more…' She struggled to find the right word. 'Free. It was a much more becoming look.'

James thought about that for a moment. Despite the pain and humiliation of the whole situation, his unfortunate tenure aboard the _Black Pearl_ had had a certain liberating element to it. There was no worrying about the state of his uniform, about how brightly his sword shone, about his speech and table manners, about whether or not his wig was powdered just the right amount. In fact, there had been no wig at all – no itching, no sneezing from the powder, no uncomfortable heat. James rather missed it. He tugged off his hat and wig, and flung the wig into the oncoming wave, where it bobbed for a second before disappearing under the dark water.

'Better?' he asked Elizabeth, placing the hat firmly back onto his head. She laughed again, smiling at him. The sound made James's heart flutter ever so slightly. 'And I swore off rum as soon as I got my position back – no need to worry about that, then. Not that there would be any rum on this beach at any rate.'

Elizabeth smiled mischievously. 'Oh?' she said, leaping up and heading down the beach; James followed, confused. 'You might be surprised. See, this beach is actually a real place… you remember when you found me after Barbossa kidnapped me?'

James nodded, frowning. 'Landed here with Sparrow, weren't you?'

'Oh, yes,' chuckled Elizabeth, knocking on the surrounding palm trees for some inexplicable reason. 'Jack, and his rum.' James watched in bewilderment as she began to take exaggerated strides across the sand, looking more like Sparrow than herself. 'See, Jack was marooned on this island by Barbossa twice – once by himself, and once with me. Managed to escape the first time by bargaining passage off with the rumrunners…' Elizabeth bent over and pulled open a large trapdoor covered in white sand. 'Let's see, what was it Jack said?' Elizabeth stopped and turned to face James, her hands on her hips and her eyes twinkling in amusement. 'I think it was: "From the looks of it, they've long been out of business… probably have your bloody friend Norrington to thank for that…"' James rolled his eyes; she laughed and continued down the stairs.

'I hope you do remember I also rescued you the second time,' he called after her.

A bottle of rum was thrust abruptly into his hands. 'The irony is not lost on me, James,' Elizabeth said, her head emerging from the trapdoor. 'Drink up… unless, of course, you can resist the temptation,' she added, winking at him and smiling in a horribly disarming manner as she sat down on the ground and took a swig from her own bottle. James tried not to gawk at her – how on earth could she still be so bewitching, even when he was dead and she was a pirate?!

'Elizabeth…' He cleared his throat and sat down besides her, placing the rum to his side. 'Even though I'm sure this is a horribly awkward situation for you, I hope you don't mind my company?' He was a bit afraid of the answer, but the question had been asked already.

She glanced at him. 'James, if I did mind you, I would have told you to leave a long time ago.' James shrugged, relaxing inwardly – it was a sort of indirect compliment. 'It's rather nice to have someone who will believe me when I talk about… well, more or less any of the absurd circumstances I've been in.'

'So, you don't mind if… if we meet again, then?' James felt rather awkward asking, considering it was, after all, her dreams that he was invading.

'I suppose not, Mr Norrington.' She smiled. 'Though may I be so bold as to ask how frequently I might expect your presence?' She raised an eyebrow.

James furrowed his brow slightly. 'I'm permitted to see you during the span of only one hour a year… so, by my calculations, that would best mean four times a year, in quarter-hour increments…' He suddenly realized he should have been keeping an eye on the time, and hastily pulled a large gold watch out of his pocket. James swore under his breath; almost fifteen minutes had already passed. 'And, having said so, I regret to say I must leave now.'

He stood; she followed suite. 'I'll come whenever you call for me,' he said, pressing her hand.

'Four times a year,' she repeated. James wondered if the shadows cast by the last rays of the sun were playing tricks on him, but he thought he saw a tear glistening at the corner of her eye. In an instant, though, she was smiling in her usual merry manner. 'Then you may be sure I shall call on you again before the next three months are out, Mr Norrington. Until then...'

James watched as she turned and strode back off up the beach, the wind ruffling her hair. 'Until then, Elizabeth,' he whispered. In the next moment, he felt darkness overtake him again.


	8. Part II: In Dreams - Caught Up in the Dance

Life in the Locker became a wearisome stretch of boredom for James. He supposed not all the people who were stuck in the Locker got the same treatment he did, mainly because he never saw any of them. He wondered if the Locker was designed to be every soul's personal version of hell, and each person was confined to that hell all by his or herself. If that was indeed the case for every person, he could imagine why so many people would drink from the Waters of Oblivion as soon as possible.

For James, the Locker was a vast, flat desert in the middle of which sat his old ship, the _Interceptor_ , the one that Sparrow and Turner had stolen a long time ago and then somehow managed to get blown up. All day long, he paced up and down the empty corridors of the _Interceptor_ , with absolutely nothing to do and no one to talk to. Being dead, he never felt tired, and therefore could never even escape his boredom by napping. To his dismay, he could not find a single book for reading leisure aboard the entire ship, and wondered what on earth his men had done in their free time besides drink and play cards. Within the first week, James had exhausted both rereading his maps and playing solitaire with himself, and found that there really was nothing else to do aboard the ship besides sit in his cabin and stare at the ceiling, and wish that there was something to do. He even toyed with the idea of cleaning the ship, for lack of anything better to do, and then realized that he had neither a mop, nor any water to clean with. Besides, the ship wasn't even dirty – there was no one around to make a mess but himself, and he really didn't have all that much to clutter the ship up with anyway.

James was quite sure he was going to go mad from the sheer dullness of it all. He was even beginning to regret having thrown his wig away – at least he could have amused himself for an hour or so by tearing it apart.

He was lying on a bunk one uneventful day, trying to figure out if his bunk had really been any more comfortable than those belonging to his crew members, when he found that something rather sharp was sticking into the back of his neck. Eager to alleviate some of his boredom, James sat up and felt around the inside of the pillow for whatever had been poking him in the neck. He pulled out a battered black book, wondered for a minute if it would be impolite to look inside of it, decided he really didn't give a damn whether it was polite or not, and flipped open the book.

It appeared to be a journal of sorts, belonging to none other than his former lieutenant Gillette. James wrinkled his nose – he had never much liked Gillette, having found him to always be far too whiny and clingy. And then he felt guilty for having admitted such thoughts even to himself, since Gillette had been one of those unfortunate crewmembers he had lost off the coast of Tripoli. Nevertheless, he was rather curious to see whether or not the man had ever actually had any profound thoughts, and, justifying to himself that since he was dead too now he and Gillette were square, James began to read:

 _Dear Diary: Well, we're sailing off to god-knows-where, probably after some more pirates. Again. These blokes seem to be rather obsessed with pirates, actually – we're_ always _off trying to find them, it seems. I'm homesick already – it's no fun being stuck on a boat all day with a bunch of smelly men and Old Norrie._ ( _Old Norrie_?! thought James in indignation, thinking to himself that Gillette must have been at least a decade older than himself and was therefore quite a hypocrite.) _The food aboard this ship is terrible, and I can't sleep because my bunk must be harder than even the commodore's bloody stubborn head. My wig is itchy and I really don't like it. I think I'm going to get a rash on the back of my neck from all the powder, which, by the way, makes me sneeze. I don't see why I have to wear a wig – it makes me look rather dreadful. Completely ruins all my good looks._ (James snorted, marveling at Gillette's ego.) _It makes Norrie look rather dreadful too, but he's important so I think he's supposed to look that way. Very important and emotionless and boring. Rather like a talking statue who likes to boss me around. Doesn't matter much that I don't like him – as long as I get promoted, he can act how he wants…_

'Thank you kindly, Gillette, glad to see you liked me just as much as I liked you,' snapped James to no one, shutting the diary on his finger in irritation and cursing loudly. As he sat on the edge of the bunk sucking petulantly on his finger, he couldn't help but wonder if all the men had thought he was as boring and emotionless as Gillette apparently had. He rather hoped not. And then he wondered if that was how Elizabeth had always viewed him. Worried, James glanced down at Gillette's diary, and had a sudden idea.

Almost exactly three months after the first meeting, James found himself again falling through darkness, his heart beating in anticipation at the thought of finally getting to see Elizabeth again. When the shadows around him cleared, he was surprised to find himself dressed in a deep green jacket with gold brocade standing by a door in a hallway at Governor Swann's house. It was dark outside, and peals of laughter and music from inside the room he was adjacent to made it clear to James that it was the night of a grand ball. He wondered vaguely if it was improper that he was wearing neither a wig nor a hat, when a rustle of taffeta made him turn around.

'James?' said Elizabeth. She was dressed in an exquisite dress made of cream-colored brocade with rich gold embroidery on it, and her hair was swept elegantly on top of her head. James gaped for a second.

'Elizabeth,' he said, offering her his arm with a shy smile. 'You look stunning tonight.'

She smiled up at him and took his arm. 'You look quite fine yourself, James. That jacket really accents your eyes nicely… the green matches almost perfectly.'

He hoped she didn't notice him blushing.

They entered the ballroom together, where the quartet had just struck up a sparkling waltz. James bowed, Elizabeth curtseyed, and the dance began.

'I notice you're not being a pirate today – what is this sudden change of heart all about?' James teased.

Elizabeth shrugged. 'One gets tired of being dirty and windswept all the time, I suppose. I may not miss the rules and manners, but it's hard not to miss the nice clothes and fancy dresses…' She grinned mischievously. 'And, of course, the lovely thing about dreams is that you can manage to look lovely and slim without wearing a corset.'

James glanced at her waist, and then looked away, embarrassed. True enough, Elizabeth had never looked more slender and willowy, and James was glad that this time he would not have to worry about her suddenly fainting due to the inability to breathe. The music stopped, and a slow sarabande began.

'Erm, so, how are you?' he asked, swirling her in place and wishing that he had something more interesting to say.

Elizabeth sighed. 'Lovely,' she replied unconvincingly. 'Being pregnant is excruciatingly dull, since you really can't do anything. And now I'm stuck on a remote little island where all the people in the local town look down on me for not having a husband around…' Elizabeth bit her lower lip, a scowl spreading across her face. 'Oh, James, it's so lonely not having anyone around who will even attempt to understand you!'

The dance ended, amidst much polite applause. James, noticing that Elizabeth was close to tears already, carefully led her out onto a nearby balcony where they stood watching the stars twinkle over the bay. Elizabeth wiped a tear away from her eye delicately with one finger. A warm burst of wind startled a loose strand of her hair, leaving it to bob next to her cheek; James pulled it back behind her ear without thinking.

'When I was a girl, I used to stand on this balcony all the time at night, watching the stars and the ships like this until Father came and scolded me,' murmured Elizabeth, as if in a trance. Blinking, she turned to James, who had just realized how improper it was for him to have touched her hair without permission and was on the verge of stammering out an apology.

'James, I never got a chance to apologize to you,' she said. 'I know you never would have conspired to have my father killed. You are far too good of a man for that, and I never should have doubted you for a second.'

James stared out over the bay. Far too good of a man. Was he really? He, James, who had deceived and endangered the only woman he had ever loved for the sake of honor and glory? He, who had lost said honor by sympathizing with people he never should have pitied in the first place, who had done nothing over the course of the last year of his life but switch sides and double-deal to try to maintain his bloody honor at all costs? James shook his head angrily. No, he was not that good of a man.

'It's I who should be the one to apologize,' he said stiffly. 'I should never have taken the heart from Will. His intentions were far more pure than mine, and he deserved it more than I did.' _He deserves you more than I do._ That was what James was truly thinking, hating every fiber in his body for having to acknowledge the truth. He could not bring himself to meet Elizabeth's gaze.

'Oh, James…' Elizabeth whispered. James felt her take his arm, but still did not return her stare.

'And he forgave me.' James felt Elizabeth's breath catch in her throat. 'On the way to the Locker. He could have just left me there, in my little boat, to drift about for eternity, but he's too good of a man. He even invited me aboard before it was my time to make the voyage.' James did not want to have to see the look of love in her eyes at the thought of Will, but he knew he would have to be leaving soon. He turned to her, pulling a small leather book out of his coat pocket. 'I may not be as good of a man as your husband, but I want you to at least understand why I've done the things I've done. And, as my time here is limited, I thought this might be the best way.' He pressed the book into her hand. 'Be safe,' he whispered, before hurrying back out into the hallway and down the stairs, leaving Elizabeth on the balcony, alone with the night, and her thoughts, and the book.


	9. Part II: In Dreams - The Black Book

Elizabeth woke with a ray of golden Caribbean sun falling across her face. Yawning, she sat up and stretched, feeling rather stiff and irritable. She really was sick of being pregnant, and was greatly looking forward to the day when she would be able to at least swordfight again. Not that there was any swordfighting to be done on this island. Elizabeth rubbed her eyes, wondering for the umpteenth time why she had decided to relocate to such a small, quiet island – she really could do with some excitement.

Elizabeth threw open the shutters of her window completely and gazed out for a minute. The sun skipped in blinding white arcs across the faces of the waves, a soft breeze rustled the flower-adorned grass that lay in the stretch between Elizabeth's small but well-kept house and the cliffs. She lived a few miles outside of the town, perfectly happy to stay as far as possible from the local villagers, who did nothing but point and whisper about the mysterious woman with no husband who had turned up a few months prior wearing strange Chinese clothes. Elizabeth had even heard that some of the village children believed she could control the seas, and that the sword she kept hanging over her mantelpiece had been given to her by a sea god. The stories only amused her – they were closer to the truth than the local gossips could ever imagine. Still, she did get lonely not having anyone to talk to. Jack was most likely off on some ambitious quest to gain fame and glory, and could not be relied upon in any case; her former crew had returned to Singapore and did not speak English all that fluently in the first place; she had no idea where Barbossa was, but was not sure she would want him to turn up on her doorstep; and the rest of the sailors aboard the _Black Pearl_ were no doubt either with Jack or Barbossa, or else off on Tortuga getting uproariously drunk on rum. And Will… Elizabeth willed herself not to cry. Nine years and three-and-a-half months. It was far too long a time. Until then, she could count herself cut off from everything and everyone she knew.

Except James. Elizabeth knew that the dreams in which he appeared could very well be just a part of her overly emotional imagination – how often had she become overwhelmed by a haunting sense of guilt just thinking about him? – but for some reason, the James she talked to in her dreams acted far too normally, quite unlike the figures who popped up in her other dreams. (Jack in particular was usually doing something ridiculously stupid when he turned up in a dream… or, more ridiculously stupid than in real life, Elizabeth supposed was more accurate.) It was really quite nice to be able to see him again… dead, albeit, but still as charmingly awkward as ever. Elizabeth smiled at the thought – from a distance she had never seen him act so awkward, and it seemed he only acted that way around her.

Elizabeth changed out of her nightgown and was on her way out the door to go to the village market when she realized she had left her purse on her bed stand. Sighing, she went back inside to get it… and discovered a small book bound in black leather lying on the stand next to it. Curious as to how it had gotten there, Elizabeth picked it up, the weight of it familiar in her hand. Seating herself at the table near the window, Elizabeth flipped it open.

The first few pages had been torn out of the book, and a name was scratched out of the inside cover. The remaining pages were covered in a firm, flowing script. Her heart skipped a beat as she remembered James's last words to her in her dream the night before, and she began to read.


	10. Tales Told: England

_Elizabeth – I suppose there is no need to tell you who is writing and why, but as a creature of habit, I feel bound to introduce myself before anything else. I do hope I don't bore you with everything I have to say, but I do not feel that you will truly be able to forgive me for all the mistakes I have made in the past unless you fully understand me. I therefore beg you to at least hear me out._

_I was born in Dover, Kent, England, a mysterious land of mist and fog that I have almost forgotten in the Caribbean sun. I do not remember much of my early childhood, but I do remember my mother sitting in her garden, surrounded by the murmur of the fountain and the sweet scent of the roses. It seemed to me that she was always there, waiting for my father to return home from sea. My father was a captain in the Royal Navy when I was born. He was promoted to commodore when I was three, the same year my sister Virginia was born. By then I already had dreams of being just like my father – he seemed to have a sort of otherworldly presence simply because of the authority he seemed to exude. Looking back, I see now that this was quite foolish of me, as he was after all simply a man, and yet I still can't deny that in his own taciturn way he demanded respect from everyone he met. He was a quiet but strong man who always told me that above my life and my happiness, I had to defend my country, and protect my honor. My mother was always so proud of him, and I was quite fond of her; perhaps it was a childish desire to make her just as proud of me that made me so eager to join the Navy._

_As a boy, I went to school like any other child my age. School bored me terribly – my mind was always on the sea – but I somehow managed to do well in all the classic subjects – French, Latin, maths, writing. Although my mother wanted me to go into law, my father saw early on that my real interest was in sailing and began teaching me how to use a sword when I was only six. He decided I should go into the navy when I was sixteen, and thought to train me by himself until then. I became very good with a sword very quickly; I began teaching my sister so I would have someone to practice with, and she mastered whatever material I taught her even more quickly than I. Of course, I had to teach her in secret – my mother would have been horrified if she had known that I was teaching her ladylike little Ginny how to fight. (I suppose you are probably rather surprised to know that I was at one point quite a rebel, that I wasn't always as stuffy and proper as I was when you met me.) Nonetheless, I couldn't resist teaching her, for my own benefit, and also because Ginny was much like you in that she was always in search of adventure and never liked the idea of being confined her whole life._

_But her life was far too short. When I was nine, my mother and sister both caught consumption._ _My father decided it would be best to send them to France for the fresh air, but during the crossing to Calais, both of their conditions worsened. My mother, who had never been terribly strong, died on the first night of the voyage. Ginny, who adored Mum, got much worse after that, and was gone by the next morning. I was heartbroken. My father, in turn, locked himself in his room for a good month, refusing to talk to anyone. When he finally emerged, he had changed completely. Although he had always been a serious man, he had at one point enjoyed a good joke or an occasional drink with his friends. Now he never laughed, and slapped me if I ever so much as smiled. 'To become an officer, you must be completely emotionless, even in the face of death!' he would snap at me. I suppose I eventually forgot how to smile and laugh. My father also became very religious, quite puritanical, actually; he no longer smoked or drank, and from then on any step I took out of line became a reason to give me a harsh beating. I think he believed that the disease had taken my mother and sister because of all the sin in the world. And that's when he became obsessed with catching pirates. He called them the vermin of the world, and had me absolutely convinced that it was because of their cruel deeds my mother and sister had died. He would sail off for months at a time, charging about the Mediterranean after pirates; he became renowned for his bravery, but he never seemed to notice the praise heaped on him, always too fixated on getting his revenge._

_I, on the other hand, threw myself into mastering the blade. Swordplay became my obsession; naval strategy was my only joy in life. My father was always very hard on me, but I knew he always had my best interests at heart, and his criticisms only made me work harder and improve more quickly. As I still idolized my father, I soon adopted his fanaticism with wiping out pirates, and used to imagine him dashing about the oceans in his fine ship, cutting down dirty, cruel pirates as he went. I swore to myself that I would one day be just like him, the scourge of piracy on the seven seas, a name to be feared by every pirate alive, and one day I would wipe them all out and finally have taken revenge for the deaths of my mother and sister. I do not remember how many years later it was when I realized that it could not be the fault of the pirates that my mother and sister were dead, but by then I had other reasons to hate pirates._


	11. Tales Told: A Year in Port Royal

_Within a year, my father's diligence had paid off – His Majesty the King decided that we needed to expand our fleet in the Caribbean to protect our colonial interests there, and asked my father if he would take the title of admiral upon arriving in Port Royal. I, an eager if not restrained eleven-year-old, was terribly excited, having never been out of the country except to go to France once or twice; plus, I was so pleased that finally I was going to be able to be part of one of my father's grand adventures at sea. I can still remember the day we sailed out of London, standing proudly on the deck next to my father and watching the crowds cheer as our boats made their way down the Thames. Although I had kept myself from smiling for quite a long time, I couldn't help but grin the second I was alone down in my cabin._

_The voyage progressed rather smoothly until the very end. Pirates, lead by a fierce man named Captain Teague, attacked our ship; my father was very badly wounded in the leg, and almost all of his crew was killed. When we arrived at Port Royal, instead of entering as the grand fleet ship we had set out as, we were an exhausted and humiliated bunch. My father was sent to the local hospital, and stayed there for the next four months. When the leg finally healed as best it could, my father had become a bitter, broken man. He could no longer walk without the use of a walking stick, and he winced in pain every time he took a step with his injured leg. He had no choice but to resign his commission, without ever having had the grand promotion ceremony that he was supposed to have received upon his arrival in Jamaica. From then on he was nothing but an empty shell – it seemed as if he had lost all will to live with the loss of his promotion. And indeed he died within our first year in Jamaica._

_It is not an adequate excuse, I know, but I do believe that part of the reason I was so devastated when I lost my position as commodore is because it seemed to me as if I was merely repeating my father's failure and ruin, something I swore as a boy never to do. Ironic, isn't it – I'd spent my entire childhood wishing to be like my father, but when my wish came true as an adult, it inevitably lead to my downfall and disgrace. However, had my father been alive at the time of my demotion, I think he would have thought even worse of me than I did of myself – not only had I lost my rank and honor, but I had done so as a result of treachery against the crown, of consorting and even sympathizing with pirates, the people whom he believed so firmly were responsible for the deaths of my mother and my sister. He would have scolded me for having lost control of my emotions, for not having restrained myself properly, for having let pity and weakness get the better of the stern, humorless, uncompromising nature he believed I should have. (I shudder to think what he would do if he learned that later I actually felt worse about betraying the pirates than I did about losing my commission in the first place.) He was not a very understanding man, my father, and I don't think he would have made an exception for the King himself if he had been found guilty of piracy. As guilty as I feel for saying it, perhaps it was all for the best that he died when I was so young, before he could prejudice my mind any further._

_But, back to the point: as it stood, I was now left utterly alone in the world at the age of twelve. My dreams of becoming an admiral one day had all but faded into nothing, and although I did nothing but grieve for the loss of my entire family, I never shed one tear because I knew my father would not have wanted me to show such weakness. A month passed during which I wandered about Port Royal, doing whatever work I could. And then finally I managed to get work with the East India Trading Company._

_The man in charge of the East India Trading Company in Port Royal at that time was a man you know all too well: Cutler Beckett. Although I was not fond of Beckett and his condescending mannerisms, he had a reputation for being merciless towards pirates, and I felt that I should try to help him. Beckett was reluctant to aid a boy as young and inconsequential as I, but he eventually took me on because of the skill I had with boats, and within a few months I was on a merchant ship back to England with a load of goods. As luck would have it, we were again set upon by pirates while leaving the Caribbean, but we quickly drove them off; I did my share of fighting, despite the fact that I was the youngest member of the crew by at least a decade, and earned the respect of my fellow sailors._

_The shipment we were taking to England happened to be going to none other than your father. When we landed in London, he personally came down to the docks to greet us and check that everything was in good order. One or two boxes were missing, though – when your father asked us why and learned that we had been set upon by pirates, he was most impressed that we had not lost more. The crew, much to my embarrassment, made quite a fuss over the role I had played in fending the pirates off, and shoved me forward to be acknowledged. I was nervous, of course, but stood proud just as I had imagined my father would have done, and when your father shook my hand and gave me such a friendly smile, I felt much more at ease._

' _What's your name, my boy?' he asked, as kindly as though I had known him all my life._

' _James Norrington, sir,' I replied._

_He looked startled. 'Not Commodore Norrington's son?' he asked. 'The famous pirate catcher?'_

' _Yes, sir,' I said._

_Your father shook his head. 'Then how on earth did you end up working for the East India Trading Company in Port Royal?' he asked incredulously. 'I thought your father was sent to Port Royal to become an admiral!'_

' _That was his intention, sir,' I responded, 'but things went a bit awry. My father is dead, and I could find no other work. I don't know what I plan to do with myself in the future.' I did not expect the look of concern that your father then gave me._

' _Master Norrington, would you care to join me and my wife for dinner?' he asked. It seemed rude to refuse, so, with a shrug to my crewmates, I climbed after your father into his carriage and, with a clatter of horse hooves, we were off._


	12. Tales Told: The Swanns

_I regret to say that I was impolite enough to fall asleep on the carriage ride to your old manor in England – I don't remember much of the scenery, which is a pity because I never did get to see as much of London as I'd always hoped I would. I awoke as the horses whinnied to a halt, and sleepily climbed out of the carriage, trying to rub the sleep from my eyes as discreetly as I could. As I approached the grand doorway of your house, following your father who was dressed in his best, I felt rather awkward and out of place, since I had after all just spent the day sailing. The servants were kind enough to let me wash up and put on some different clothes before going to the dining hall for dinner._

_I remember that that is where I first met you. I had just been telling your parents a full account of everything that had befallen me since I left England for Port Royal, when there was a loud clanging noise behind me. We all turned around, and there you were, wearing some fashionable dress that made you look like a porcelain doll. You had just pulled the sword the merchant ship's crew had supplied me with from amongst all my belongings and had a very guilty look on your face, as if you had had the intention of making off with it. In truth, I was rather annoyed that a little girl of five had the audacity to try to steal my sword, but your parents were quite amused._

' _This here is Elizabeth,' your mother said, picking you up and setting you on her lap, where you tried your best to charm your mother into letting you go, no doubt so you could go off and create some more mischief. (I never got to know your mother as well as your father, of course, but she always seemed like a very lovely lady, quite graceful and refined, yet never boring – like you, she always had a sparkle in her eye that made you wonder what she was really thinking.)_

_Your father gave a slightly worried chuckle. 'She's fascinated with swords, for whatever reason,' he explained wearily to me. 'Like the ones in the crest above the mantelpiece there,' he nodded, 'she's always asking if she can play with them.' He leaned across the table and whispered to me, 'I haven't had the heart to tell her yet that they won't pull out of the crest.'_

_By this time, your mother had released you, and you cheerily flounced back to the other room. I couldn't help but think about my sister at that age, and whether or not you would grow up to be anything like her._

' _So, Master Norrington,' said your father finally, when dinner was long since done, 'you said earlier that you had no plans for the future because you lacked the means to follow your ambitions. What exactly is it you would like to do with your life?'_

_I bit my tongue, not quite sure what to say. 'Well, sir, I always have fancied going into the Navy and following in my father's footsteps… that is, it's what I would have liked to have done, if my father was still alive…'_

_Your father waved his hand impatiently in the air. 'My dear boy, I see no reason why you should not follow in your father's footsteps! You seem to have quite an aptitude for sailing, and for swordplay, and I have no doubt that you could very well become one of the finest naval commanders our navy has ever seen, should you put your mind to it.' He turned to your mother, who nodded in approval at a question that he did not even need to ask. 'Therefore, I think it would be entirely proper if we arranged for you to go to the best naval schools in the country. Goodness knows, our Navy is getting far too old, and some fresh blood would be a very good thing for it.'_

_My mouth had gone very dry all of a sudden, and I had to stammer out my thanks. I could hardly believe that this was happening – from having been close to a nobody this morning, I suddenly was able to see the key to pursuing the course I had so long dreamed of. Your parents gave me the greatest thing I could have been given: the life I had always wanted. At your father's recommendation, I was sent to the best naval school in England; your parents were generous to pay for all my schooling, as well as expenses such as bed and board at the academy. I suppose in a sense they sort of adopted me – they took a great interest in my progress, and were very supportive. That they cared gave me the determination to succeed, and before long I was top in my class._

_In a few years, at the young age of seventeen, I was made a lieutenant in the Royal Navy. It was one of the proudest days of my life, to be able to show your father and the rest of the world that I was somebody, I was worth something, and all that your parents had done for me had not been done in vain. It was decided that I should be sent back to Port Royal, and so I went, eager to prove my worth in a different corner of the world. By the age of nineteen, I had become known as one of the top pirate hunters in the Caribbean (and I pray you'll excuse me for it – it is not something I look back on with a mind that rests at ease)._

_It was around this time that I received a letter from your father, a letter that made me all the more proud of my reputation as a pirate catcher. 'James, my boy, it seems you have managed to do everything you set out to accomplish,' he wrote, 'and I can't say how proud of you I am. I'm sure your own father would have been just as proud at how closely you are following in his footsteps.' The thought of my father, which once would have made my heart sink in sorrow, somehow did not seem so bad when it was your father writing about him. Reading further, I learned to my great sorrow that your mother had died a few years prior, but shortly after digesting that bad news, I read that your father had been appointed the new governor of Port Royal. 'I would like nothing better than for you to return to England and accompany me and my daughter Elizabeth to the seas you know and love so well,' he finished._

_How could I refuse? I was eager to see your father again, so that I could thank him again in person for having paid for my schooling and, most importantly, for having believed in me even when I did not fully believe in myself. And so, in a few weeks, the good ship_ Intrepid _to which I had newly been assigned, had sailed to England and been loaded with your father's belongings… and off we sailed towards the sapphire waters of the Caribbean._


	13. Tales Told: In the Caribbean

_The main thing I remember about you during that voyage, Elizabeth, was your extreme curiosity. You could not have been more than twelve or thirteen, and you never stopped asking questions about the boat, the weather, the sea, Port Royal, and, above all, pirates. I am sorry that I was not more polite or patient with you, and that I had answered more of your queries, but I was too caught up in my own self-importance, I suppose – I remember that I could hardly believe that I, a brash young nineteen-year-old, was in charge of countless men more than twice my age, as well as the_ Intrepid _, one of the finest sailing ships in the Royal Navy. Once I realized that my men would actually listen to me, trust me, maybe even respect me, the seas suddenly seemed far too few, the horizon not broad enough, the voyage across the Atlantic far too short. I was restless to sail out and away, testing my wings, so to speak, as an officer and as the scourge of piracy in the Caribbean. I became moody, withdrawn, distanced from my crew, and far too ambitious for my own good. Although I had never been terribly emotional – my father had cured me of that supposed weakness long ago – my ego kept me from being able to relate to any other being on board. Your questions fell on my deaf ears, and, if I recall correctly, you instead got your answers from a stout, superstitious fellow with large sideburns and a liking for rum, who at this point I'm sure you know much better than I ever did._

_More clearly than any other day on that voyage, I remember that bleak and foggy day we rescued William Turner. You were standing on the prow of the ship, and had just been scolded by Mr Gibbs for singing some pirate song that he was convinced would bring the pirates down upon us, when, lo and behold, the next minute you were screaming that a boy was floating about in the water. I remember when we saw the burning wreck he had come off of, I tried to pretend that the flames might have stemmed from an explosion in the powder magazine, afraid that the idea of pirates might frighten you… but of course I had nothing to fear, as you seemed more excited than anything at the thought of meeting a pirate. I suppose I believed at the time that that was why you grew so attached to young Master Turner, not only because he was the only person on the ship your age, but also because you had some clinging wish that he himself was a pirate. Or perhaps I was just projecting my own suspicions of the boy… but, if so, I had no idea how right I was about him._

_Upon our arrival at Port Royal, I must admit I was rather glad that I was going to get my ship back to myself and be able to go off pirate-chasing again. I bade you and your father good-bye, and was off with my crew. For the next eight years, I sped through the ranks of a naval officer; lieutenant, lieutenant-commander, commander, and at long last, at the unprecedented young age of twenty-five, captain of my own ship. Throughout this time, I was on the seas constantly, fighting and capturing pirates (and no doubt strengthening my reputation and standings in the Navy while doing so). It became a sort of morbid fascination for me, to see these wild, fearsome men with their glinting eyes and their lust for blood and treasures go to the gallows one by one… a short drop and a sudden stop, all in good business, to rid the world of corruption and filth and make the seas a safer place for honest men. And always, during the infrequent periods I was back on shore, I was welcomed at your home, where your father would eagerly ask me about all my latest exploits. I think it was during this time that I realized that he thought of me as a surrogate son as much as I had always thought of him as the supportive father I had never had._

_And it was during these years that I watched you grow up. I cannot say exactly when it was that my heart first skipped a beat when I saw you, but my guess is that it was shortly after I returned from some long adventure at sea, at one of the balls your father hosted every now and again at your estate. I was quite astounded at how quickly it seemed you had matured from the inquisitive young girl I had sailed across the Atlantic into the stunning young lady I saw before me. But, although you were older, and more graceful and charming than ever, you still had an air of the unexpected about you, like a bird that would gladly fly from the bars of its corseted cage if given the chance. I think that above all this is what fascinated me the most about your personality. And, although at first I resisted it, feeling as though it would be too improper for me to covet the daughter of the man I thought of as a second father, I eventually gave into the feelings I always kept locked away from the outside world, and allowed myself to fall in love with you._

_Because of the conflict I felt within my heart about falling in love with you, I threw myself completely into my work, trying to distract myself. Before long, I had caught the attention of the Royal Navy again, and was promoted to commodore. I have no doubt you remember well the events of that day, but I still would like to be able to justify my actions by telling you exactly what was going through my head the day I met Captain Jack Sparrow._


	14. Tales Told: Captain Jack Sparrow

_Although I had never met Jack Sparrow before, I had heard countless stories about him. He was only a handful of years older than I, but he had been racing about the Caribbean as captain of his own ship, causing all sorts of mischief, since he was only eighteen. Stories said he could charm any woman, and that he was rarely seen without at least one bottle of rum at hand. He had only ever been caught by one person, and that was Cutler Beckett of the East India Trading Company; no one knows why Beckett let him go after having caught him, but the fact that Sparrow had been caught at all was quite a wonder to most people. One thing that I always found somewhat intriguing about him was that in all his time as captain, neither he nor his crew had ever killed an innocent person – they might steal the clothes off a man's back, but as long as he was not pointing a rifle with a bayonet at them, they would not kill him. This might have made me more lenient towards Sparrow, except for one little grudge I held against him: he was the son of one Captain Teague, the man who had attacked my father's ship so many years before. And, to avenge the ruin and death of my father, I was determined to catch and execute Jack Sparrow if it was the last thing I did._

_I don't think there is any way I could possibly forget the day that I first came face to face with Jack Sparrow for the first time. My promotion ceremony passed by in a nervous whirl of red coats, powdered wigs, tapping drums, and barked orders. I was given a beautiful new sword – made, as I well knew, by the boy whom my crew had rescued so many years before – and accepted it with much elaborate twirling and pomp, hoping that perhaps you were watching and would be impressed. I had already decided that today of all days would be the most appropriate to propose to you (isn't it a curious thought?), and in truth I spent most of the rest of the ceremony trying to force the fluttering in the pit of my stomach to stop. When the formalities finally ended, I of course had to endure the boring processes of hand-shaking and compliment-receiving before I could go find you and put an end to my uncertain suffering. I slipped away from the throng of well-wishers as gracefully and as soon as I could, but before I could make a full escape, your father, who knew exactly what I was up to, squeezed my shoulder and whispered, 'Good luck,' into my ear._

_Even now, after so much time has passed, I cannot help but be rather embarrassed about the pathetic manner in which I began my proposal. I was, I now realize, far too stilted and formal – I must have sounded like I was drafting a battle strategy, not courting a woman, for pity's sake. However, none of that matters much now, as before I could get to the main point of my soliloquy, you had fainted over the edge of the parapet. I cannot describe the horror I felt when I realized what had happened – indeed, I think my lieutenant Gillette snorted in laughter every time he saw me for the next month or so because, when he heard my cry of dismay and ran over to see what was wrong, I was stripping off my coat and on the verge of jumping off the parapet after you. Instead, my men and I dashed from the fort down to the docks as quickly as we could… only to find you lying drenched on the deck, dressed in nothing but your underclothes (a fact that would have no doubt mortified me had the circumstances been any different), and surrounded by three men, the first two of whom I knew to be bumbling but rather harmless soldiers… but the third…_

_How does one describe a first impression of Jack Sparrow? He was exactly what I had always tried not to be – unkempt, dressed in a motley array of clothing, sly wit twinkling in his eyes and the cheeky grin that he just could not contain. Of course, at the time I could only guess that the man I was facing was Jack Sparrow – all I knew for certain was that he was a pirate who at the moment was leaning over the half-dressed woman I had just proposed to in a most menacing fashion. When I drew my sword and held it to his throat, glaring down at him, he did not glare back, angry at having finally been caught, as so many other pirates did; instead, he glanced down at the blade in a most bewildered manner and pulled himself to his unsteady feet, holding his hands out as though trying to keep his balance while never showing any concern for the fact I was about ready to impale him. I won't deny that the man had me completely caught off my guard, but I tried not to show it as your father anxiously bustled over to you and began worriedly asked about your safety and such. The pirate held his hands up innocently, still disregarding the threat of the sword pointed at him, and gave me a winning smile that I had to work hard not to laugh at – did the man not realize how absolutely ridiculous he was making himself look? I admit, as determined as I was to have him hanged the next day, I could not help but be fascinated with his nonchalant demeanor… so it was with only a half-reluctant heart that I lowered my weapon when you spoke out against your father's orders to shoot the pirate._

_That smile was beginning to really irritate me, though. I was more than eager to wipe it off of his face._

' _I believe thanks are in order,' I said in a business-like fashion, sheathing my sword. Sparrow gave my hand another confused look before hesitantly taking it. In one deft movement, I pulled his shirt sleeve up, exposing a burn scar in the shape of an elaborate P. Only one man in the Caribbean had a brand like that – he kept in with the poker and the rake by the fireplace in his office. My suspicions deepened. 'Had a brush with the East India Trading Company, now, did we… pirate?' I said, calling for Gillette to fetch some irons as I heard your father let out a triumphant 'Hang him!' The pirate winced, acting as though I had not realized that he was a pirate from the instant I saw him, or that he had not known he would be jailed and hung for it. A small blue line peeking from under the rest of his sleeve caught my eye, and I tugged it up a bit further to find a picture of a small bird – a sparrow – soaring gracefully over the waves. My heart began to beat faster – here, at last, was the son of the pirate whose attack had ruined my father's life and nearly ruined mine as well._

' _Well, well,' I sneered, deciding that revenge was far more important than my curiosity for this quirky man, 'Jack Sparrow, is it now.' I derisively threw his arm back down to his side, wondering what the penalty would be for killing him on the spot without a proper and legal hanging._

_The pirate winced again. '_ Captain _Jack Sparrow, if you please, sir,' he said in an agonized voice, seemingly more agitated about the lack of title than about the fact that I was going to hang him for it. This just irritated me more: I wanted to be able to strike fear into the heart of this man, more than any other pirate I had ever encountered, and yet he refused to be frightened._

' _I don't see your ship, Captain,' I replied somewhat sarcastically. It was true – I hadn't seen Sparrow's ship arrive – and I knew no better way to insult the man than to point out that if he had no ship, he wasn't really a captain._

' _I'm in the market,' replied the man coolly, 'as it were.'_

' ' _E said 'e'd come to commandeer one… These are 'is, sir,' said one of the sailors, bustling up with Sparrow's things as I glared at the pirate. All right, then, he wasn't reacting to a direct insult to his position… I examined and critiqued each of his other pitiful belongings – a pistol with only one shot, a compass that didn't point north, and a battered old sword – trying to bring a scowl to Mr Sparrow's face with each new insult I threw at him. 'You are without a doubt the worst pirate I've ever heard of,' I said finally, out of ideas._

_Sparrow raised his eyebrows. 'But you have heard of me,' he pointed out._

_I was livid._ Why _was this man refusing to act like a normal human being and admit his defeat?! All patience lost, I grabbed Sparrow by the arm and dragged him over to where Gillette was waiting with the handcuffs._

_I believe it was at this point that you began to protest Mr Sparrow's arrest. 'Pirate or not, this man saved my life,' you more or less shouted at me, stationing yourself between Sparrow and me._

' _One good deed cannot redeem a man of a lifetime of wickedness,' I asserted, and was about to go on, but Sparrow interrupted, adding in, 'Though it seems enough to condemn him.' At least he had admitted to the fact that he was now my captive. 'Indeed,' I replied coldly, although inside I was actually rather startled by the ironic truth of the statement._

_I have no doubt you remember the events that followed – Sparrow threatened to kill you and ran away, Turner managed to keep Sparrow occupied with fencing while my men broke down the door, and away Sparrow went to the prison. If I know your father, he probably whisked you back home and barricaded you inside the house to prevent any more mayhem from occurring. In honesty, I'm not quite sure if he was more worried about your personal safety, or that you'd run off with the pirates – I think he found your sympathetic stance towards Sparrow quite disconcerting._

_I, meanwhile, went to the fort and held a quick and speedy trial for Mr Sparrow, as law requires. The verdict: guilty of piracy. Obviously. The guilty party was sentenced to hang at dawn, and everyone left the courtroom quite bored and unsurprised by the outcome._


	15. Tales Told: A Dialogue with Jack Sparrow

_I usually don't make a point of conversing with my prisoners before they are executed, but something compelled me to speak with Sparrow. I don't know if it was the fact that he had saved you, or the fact that he had nearly killed you, or the fact that his father had ruined my father's career and life, or simply because of his blasé reactions to just about everything. Nonetheless, after the trial I went down to the cells._

_Sparrow was lying nonchalantly on the straw that lined the bottom of his cell, twirling one of the rings on his finger lazily. As triumphant as I felt about finally having caught the infamous Jack Sparrow, it still really bothered me how he did not seem the least bit concerned that he had just been sentenced to death._

' _Enjoying yourself, are you?' I snapped, glancing down at him. I refused to kneel down and bring myself to his level. Sparrow stopped fiddling and propped himself up on his elbows, giving me a wide-eyed stare as if he had only just noticed me._

' _Strange way to start a conversation,' he replied. 'Usually introductions are the way to go in civilized society. Though, come to think of it, you all know my name, so, fair is fair, what's yours, mate?'_

_I closed my eyes in disgust – had Sparrow just called me 'mate'?! 'James Norrington, Commodore in the Royal Navy,' I replied through clenched teeth._

_Sparrow grinned. 'Commodore, eh? That would explain the silly wig and the funny looking hat, then.' I had to restrain myself from rolling my eyes; why did people always harp on the wig? 'Suppose you were looking forward to being promoted to admiral, weren't you? After capturing me, and all.'_

' _And who's to say I won't be?' I asked arrogantly. I had no doubt that after capturing Sparrow, the same pirate who had escaped so many other close calls at the hands of the law, I would be promoted almost instantaneously. Sparrow smirked and sat up, leaning forward._

' _Because, dear Commodore, you are forgetting one very important fact,' he said, his eyes twinkling. He threw his hands out in a careless shrug. 'I'm Captain Jack Sparrow.'_

_I rolled my eyes. So, what, just because he was a famous name, now he was convinced he could somehow magically get through the iron bars and stone walls that held him captive in the fort? And yet… something in the way he said it unnerved me, made me remember that he had somehow inexplicably managed to thwart so many other captures. I hid my moment of concern and scoffed._

' _And, really, mate,' Sparrow added, calling me by the detestable term again just to anger me, no doubt, 'would it be such a bad thing if I escaped?' He stood up so that he could look me face to face through the bars. 'When was the last time you heard of me ransacking a village, eh? When was the last time I skewered a bunch of innocent civilians for the fun of it?' I racked my brain for answers but, to my surprise, found none. 'Surprised?' Sparrow flashed me a grin. 'Might attribute it to my lack of a ship, but, I'll tell you, Commie, it's not so much because of that.' He moved right up to the bars and leaned against them, grinning at me. I forced myself not to back away from his rum-smelling presence. 'I'm not in this line of work for the killing, or the hurting innocent people. Sometimes it happens, but if it does, it's just part of the business, savvy? Really, it's more about the rest of the profession. The treasure, for one thing… there's things out there that you wouldn't believe in if I told you about them, and not all just silver and gold. But more importantly, though, there's… well, I doubt you'd really understand it, so…' The pirate heaved a sigh and turned away with a disinterested flick of his wrist. 'Carry on, then, feel free to leave me and go off to whatever commodore-esque duties await you.'_

_Of course, I didn't move. I was determined to hear the end of this absurd monologue. 'I wouldn't understand it, would I?' I challenged him. 'Try me.'_

_Sparrow turned and grinned. 'Freedom, mate,' he said. 'Something I doubt you'd understand. The ability to sail off into the sunset and not have to report to anyone, to find yourself a few girls and a tavern full of rum and have yourself a jolly good time without worrying about what the commanding officer is going to say, even…' He flopped back down onto the straw and looked up at me. 'Even the liberty to take off that bloody wig of yours and hurl it off into the waves, now whaddya say to that, then? Incredible, no?'_

' _In exchange for what, though, Mr Sparrow?' I asked. I was trying my hardest not to be convinced by his honeyed words, but with each passing moment my wig seemed to grow more and more scratchy and cumbersome. 'No honor, no glory, no prestige… and how can you bear to live with yourself?'_

_Sparrow shrugged. 'When you have no rules, you never feel ashamed about breaking them.'_

_Irritated at my momentary lapse of respectable thought, I turned on my heel and left the prison, leaving Sparrow alone to contemplate his hanging. But I could not shake the words he had said from my head, and they continued to haunt me for many nights afterwards, as I lay in my bunk at night after a hard day's work of pursuing Sparrow and Turner. True, they had stolen the_ Interceptor _, but, just as I was, they were searching for you. In fact, I almost envied the fact that they had stolen the ship – how much more romantic would it be for Will to be able to say that he had broken the law and risked his life for the love of you? I knew that, despite the fact I was sending all the ships in my power out to look for you, the effect would not be quite the same. Nevertheless, annoyed as I was at the theft of my ship, and at Turner's ability to out-do me once again in impressing you, I somehow could not find it to be a wholly evil thing that they had stolen a ship for what might be called an almost honorable purpose._


	16. Part II: In Dreams - A Ship with Black Sails

James had spent an insufferably boring three months in the Locker. Gillette's former diary had been the only unused paper aboard the _Interceptor_ , and for some reason he couldn't bring himself to doodle on the edges of the navigational maps – while in the Locker, they were all he had to remind him of his old life, the real world that he used to inhabit. He wondered if the lengthy narrative he had written for Elizabeth had indeed been able to leave the realm of her dreams and reappear in the material world… he also wondered if she had had the patience and curiosity to read it. True, he had not had time to get the whole story out, but he knew that he would have many more days of intense boredom with which to finish writing his life's history before he decided to leave the Locker.

Needless to say, he was more than happy when, after what seemed like an eternity to him, he found himself falling through the dark nothingness that had become so familiar to him. Relaxing, James enjoyed the drop through the blackness and wondered where he was going to end up this trip.

When the lights began to reappear, James found himself on an all-too-familiar deck. He almost thought he could see Pintel and Ragetti swabbing the deck and flicking grimy rags at each other, while in the meantime Elizabeth chased Jack about the deck, complaining about a letter of marque that she had taken from Beckett at gunpoint… James looked up. The black sails of the ship billowed against the brilliantly blue sky of the Caribbean. Squinting, James noticed a new banner furling in the wind, a Jolly Roger with a small sparrow insignia.

'Like it?' said a voice into his ear. James started – he had not even seen Elizabeth creep up behind him. Her face was bronzed to a deep golden-brown, her eyes twinkled merrily out from under the wide brim of the black hat he had seen her wear aboard this very ship. 'Jack had it put up last time he managed to get his hands on the _Pearl_.'

'Elizabeth!' Before James could stop himself he reached out and hugged her. She grinned.

'It's about time you got the nerve to do that without apologizing and stammering afterwards, James,' she said. 'Have you been all right?'

'Rather bored,' answered James truthfully. 'Not much to do in the Locker right now.' Elizabeth nodded in sympathy. 'Didn't I ever tell you what it's like down there?'

'No, you didn't.' Elizabeth turned and looked at him with interest. 'I've only ever seen the shoreline, when we went to rescue Jack.'

'What?!' James was startled – had Jack died, then, and been retrieved by Elizabeth and heaven knew who else? 'I haven't heard about this.'

'Oh,' said Elizabeth airily. 'Well, then, it's a good thing I brought this.' She pulled out of her pocket a small book and waved it tauntingly in front of James, who tried to take it but had it snatched out of his grasp. 'Not until after you've told me what the Locker is like,' she said.

James laughed. 'Like I've said, it's quite boring, really. I'm stuck in the middle of a desert with no sand on the bloody _Interceptor_ , just as it was the last time I saw it. And it's bright as day all the time, and I can't sleep, and I couldn't eat even if there was food to be eaten, and there's nothing to do but look at old maps and write long and probably tedious letters to fearless young ladies. Now, what's all this about?'

Elizabeth pocketed the book. 'I figured you might want something to read while stuck in the Locker… but you're not getting it until you leave, I don't want to have to fight for your attention.'

James raised an eyebrow. 'Fair enough, then,' he said, giving a small bow in defeat. 'So, how have you been? Everything all right in the land of the living?'

Elizabeth's eyes lit up, and she smiled broadly. 'Yes, very much so.' She gave a small chuckle. 'Oh James, you're not going to believe this… I'm a mother.'

James smiled. It was a bit awkward, he had to admit, to hear about the birth of his rival's child, but Elizabeth seemed so happy that James could not help but be anything but supportive for her sake. 'Congratulations,' he said sincerely. 'I'm sure that Will will be very proud.'

Elizabeth smiled even more and leaned onto the railing, staring out at the ocean. 'He's beautiful, James,' she said wistfully. 'He looks so much like Will, but his eyes are more like mine, I think. It's hard to tell, he's so little…' She paused, and then shot a sideways glance at James. 'I named him after you,' she said. 'James William Turner.'

James froze, then turned and looked at Elizabeth with a mixture of disbelief and joy. 'You what? Elizabeth, you didn't really?!'

Elizabeth gave an innocent shrug. 'It would have been far too confusing to have three William Turners running about,' she replied.

'But you're sure Will won't mind?' James asked anxiously. He knew that Will had forgiven him, but he wasn't sure the man would be so keen on the idea of having his son named after the man who had been his romantic rival for so many years…

'If he does, that's between him and me,' said Elizabeth firmly. 'You're the only friend I know I can count on to be there for me, James, and I feel I owe you at least this much.'

James cringed a bit – did she really feel that lonely? After all, to say he was her most reliable friend when they only saw each other once every three months…

'You mean, Sparrow doesn't come by often?'

Elizabeth laughed. 'Jack? You know how he is. He drops in at his convenience, which isn't terribly often – he spent most of last year chasing after Barbossa in an attempt to get the _Pearl_ back, and then lost it again…'

'Barbossa?' repeated James with a frown. 'The man who kidnapped you from Port Royal and started all this pirate business, isn't it? I thought you said he was dead.'

Elizabeth sighed. 'No, Calypso rescued him from the Locker too, because he had one of the… oh, just read this later on, will you?' She pulled out the book and stuffed it into James's hand – he quickly pocketed it. 'This is all far too confusing, trying to figure out what you know and what I know, so I figured I might as well just tell you everything that's happened since I woke up the morning of your promotion.' She opened her mouth to add something else, but thought better of it and closed it.

'What?' asked James in mock suspicion.

Elizabeth blushed a bit. 'I hope you don't mind that I didn't give you back your original book. This will sound silly, but I'd like to be able to keep it with me, just so I can pretend that you're around all the time.'

James looked down at her, noticing how fragile she looked in her baggy pirate's clothes, how she wrapped her arms about her against the sea breeze. He draped an arm comfortingly over her shoulder. 'No,' he whispered. 'It doesn't sound silly at all.'

The two stood there, staring out at the flicker of the sun against the waves, neither even bothering to think about whether or not the situation was improper or not.

'What you were saying about Jack's father, and your father…' Elizabeth began.

'Yes,' answered James, before she could finish her sentence. 'It was a foolish thing for me to hate him for. I realize now that one should not be held accountable for the actions of his father.' _If I can forgive Will, I can forgive Jack_.

Elizabeth turned, raising an eyebrow at James. 'What about me? Can you forgive me for becoming a pirate?'

James shrugged. 'I suppose so,' he said languidly, allowing a grin to creep slowly across his face.

Elizabeth laughed under her breath, and then her face turned serious again. 'And… what about you, James? After everything you've told me, what you wrote about your conversation with Jack, can you forgive yourself for becoming a pirate?'

James stiffened, withdrawing his arm from about Elizabeth's shoulders. He still was not sure he wanted to hear himself be called a pirate. 'I'm not sure,' he answered truthfully, more formally than before.

Elizabeth sighed. 'That's what I thought.'

James nodded, lost in thought, and the two returned to staring out at the carefree waves.


	17. Part II: In Dreams - The Cost of Freedom

While reading the book that he received from Elizabeth, James managed to answer many of the questions he had been meaning to ask. She recounted everything that had happened when she was kidnapped by Barbossa, up until the death of Will and his return as the captain of the _Flying Dutchman_. James could not help but smile in amusement when he read that Elizabeth, the girl he had once almost asked to marry him, had become the Pirate King – her recollection of how this appointment came about amused him just as much, although, knowing Sparrow's unpredictable nature, he was not at all surprised at how things had turned out. He took to keeping the book with him at all times as he walked aimlessly about the ship, rereading its pages over and over, imagining that the woman who had written them walked at his side.

'And so, are you still the Pirate King?' he asked Elizabeth the next time they met. They were standing on the dock where they had met Jack in Tortuga so long ago. 'Good gracious, Elizabeth,' added James, scowling, 'this place is a mess… did you really have to land us here tonight?'

He did not add that the very thought of Tortuga made his stomach lurch uncomfortably; it reminded him all too much of the sorry state he had been in when Elizabeth had found him, disheveled, drunk, and fallen as far as could be imagined from the respectable man he had once been. The look of pity she had given him was what sparked the mad desire in him to raise himself back up in the world, to redeem himself in her eyes and the eyes of the rest of the world, at whatever the cost… James shook his head, realizing that it was no good crying over spilt milk, and that Elizabeth had hated him for what he had done, not admired his resulting promotion. He focused his thoughts back on the conversation he was having.

'Yes, of course,' said Elizabeth innocently with an evil glint in her eye. 'I'm trying to see if you really can hold off on the rum, even when surrounded by taverns…' James rolled his eyes and playfully shoved her in the shoulder – for some reason, he found it easier to tease her back when she was dressed as a pirate. 'But, yes, I do believe I am the Pirate King until the Brethren Court votes in a new one.'

James jumped aside as two men pummeling each other tumbled drunkenly off the edge of the dock. 'And you killed Jack Sparrow, did you?' James raised his eyebrows. 'Funny, I'd been so sure you were in love with him when I saw the two of you together…'

Elizabeth glanced up at James, her dark brown eyes meeting his sea-green ones. 'You might have been right,' she answered finally. 'I'm not quite sure why, but whenever I held Jack's compass, for some reason it pointed towards him, and not Will. The thing is, when I kissed him before I killed him, I didn't do it because I felt any real attraction for him… it was more just because I felt like I could kiss him, and not feel guilty. If that makes any sense,' she said with a somewhat embarrassed shrug.

James shook his head. 'You kissed him ere you killed him. How very Shakespearean.'

Elizabeth sighed impatiently. 'No, it's not like that… I think that what I always wanted was the _freedom_ he had, that, well, pirate ability he had to completely disregard the rules when he had to. I kissed him because it was forbidden, not because I loved him, and I did it to prove to myself that I could break the rules too if I needed to. I had to prove it to myself, James, because I knew that the only way to save all of us was if I let the Kraken take Jack, and I knew that I'd have to be the one to kill him.' She threw her hands up in the air in exasperation. 'Oh, never mind.'

But it did make sense to James, in a strange way. He thought back to how he had felt when Jack had talked to him about freedom, and wondered, as he had so often wondered since he had met the pirate, if it was after all such a bad thing.

* * *

'He's a lot like you, actually,' Elizabeth said to James one night. It was a perfectly clear day, and the sea sparkled like diamonds in contrast to the intensely blue sky. They were sitting on a parapet of the fort, the exact one that Elizabeth had been standing on the day she fainted into the bay. 'He looks so much like Will, but something about him reminds me more of you.'

'Besides the name, I assume?' James swung his legs over the edge of the parapet so that they dangled off over the sea. Elizabeth gave him a worried look and opened her mouth to reprimand him, and then decided there was no use in doing so.

'Well, besides that. He's a very serious child for one thing, and he's determined to join the Navy when he grows up.'

James was interested. 'Really? Even though his mother is the Pirate King?'

Elizabeth gave a small chuckle. 'You didn't think I'd told him that, did you? He doesn't have the slightest notion that I'm a pirate. Or was, at least.' She shrugged. 'I'm beginning to think that I couldn't go back to that lifestyle even if I wanted to.'

'So you'd give up freedom for a dull, respectable life, then?' James wagged a finger at her. 'That means you've got to stop harping on about my career in the Navy, and that wig too.'

'There is more than one type of freedom, James, and I prefer to take the type that doesn't involve getting in life-threatening situations. I still never wear corsets, if that makes you feel any better. Plus, that wig really was hideous, and I think – '

'All right, all right.' James waved his hand in the air impatiently. 'You were saying he doesn't know you're a pirate – then how do explain Jack to him?'

'Jack.' Elizabeth rolled her eyes. 'I haven't seen Jack in over four years, and the last time I did it was when Jamie was far too young to remember. If Jack ever does come to visit, I shall be sure to drag him off to the local tavern or somewhere where we can have a reasonable discussion without Jamie hearing a word about pirates.'

'And Will?' James raised an eyebrow. 'How are you going to explain that?'

Elizabeth sighed. 'I'm not sure.' She glanced at James. 'See, I told Jamie that his father was a captain in the Navy who can only come from England to visit once every ten years.'

'You told him what?' James laughed. 'Elizabeth, I think it might have been more plausible if you had just told him the truth.'

'And had him become a pirate too?' Elizabeth shook her head. 'I don't want him to, James, try to understand that. It's too dangerous – pirates betray each other too readily, they stab each other in the back, they have no loyalty or honor…'

'Not like anyone we know, I suppose?' James meant it in jest, but Elizabeth turned on him, her eyes flashing.

'You've done it too, James. Don't blame me – I killed Jack because I had to. But you, you betrayed us for yourself.'

James looked down, hurt by the truth in her words. The two sat there in guilty silence for a moment before Elizabeth spoke.

'I'm sorry, James. I shouldn't have said anything.'

He tried to smile at her. 'You're right, of course. I should not have said anything either.'

'It's just…' Elizabeth paused, trying to find the right words. 'I'm always so afraid something is going to happen to him. And if something did happen, I don't know what I'd do, James. I think I might die. So that's why I would rather have him grow up and become an honorable naval officer than a pirate.'

'You'd sacrifice his freedom for honor, that is?'

Elizabeth looked him squarely in the face. 'If honor meant safety, I would. Wouldn't you?'

James shrugged. 'I don't know. I don't have to worry about it – I'm dead, you know.'

She sighed. 'Yes, I know. It's something that haunts me every day.'

'Really. I'm flattered.'

'Stop teasing me, James, or I'll push you off the parapet.'

'Let's just hope I'd be as lucky as you were that day.'

'That day.' Elizabeth stared off at the ocean for a moment. 'Ever wonder how it might have been if we had gotten married?'

The question caught him completely off his guard. 'What?'

'Well, have you?'

James shifted uncomfortably. 'Once in a while, yes.'

'Same here. Actually, I've wondered more than once what might have happened if I had just said yes to you that day… if I hadn't fainted and been rescued by Jack, if I had never been kidnapped by Barbossa, if I'd never become a pirate, if none of this had ever happened…'

'You undoubtedly would have had a very boring and proper life, and I would have been very happy but just as boring and proper as I'd always been.' James chuckled. 'I actually think that in an odd way all this pirating business has been somewhat good for me … correct me if I'm wrong, but I think I've certainly become a good deal less boring than when you first met me.'

Elizabeth took his hand. 'Definitely. Apparently all of your father's doctrines about being emotionless and disliking pirates have faded away… well, all of them except the one about being honorable, that is…'

'I suppose it's no good worrying about it, it's all in the past,' said James a bit sadly. 'I doubt you would have said yes to my proposal anyway, since at the time you thought I was so boring, and you were madly in love with a certain young blacksmith, at any rate…'

'You never know. At that point in my life, I don't think I'd experienced freedom enough to realize I had options.' She stood up. 'I really wish you could meet Jamie, James. You two would like each other. Actually…' She blushed. 'I had a dream the other night that the three of us were back here, at the fort, in Port Royal. And you were teaching him how to sword fight. The two of you just looked so… so natural, fencing away with each other, and laughing. For a moment, I almost thought I was awake.' She sighed. 'And then Jack popped out of nowhere in a French maid outfit and offered me treacle and strawberry tarts, so I knew it wasn't real. I was really quite distressed when I woke up.'

'Once again, Jack Sparrow ruins the day. As always.'

'Oh, stop it!' Elizabeth snorted, playfully shoving him in the back. James, who had been about to swing his legs back over the edge of the parapet, was taken by surprise and lost his balance. Almost as if in slow motion, he fell towards the water, pulling his body into a graceful dive just before he hit the surface with barely a splash.

'James!' screamed Elizabeth as he disappeared into the murky black water. At that moment, she awoke, covered in sweat, chest heaving. After a moment of confusion, she recognized her surroundings and, wrapping her arms around her knees, began to sob quietly.


	18. Part II: In Dreams - Prices Unpaid

James dashed into his cabin aboard the _Interceptor_ and threw himself into the chair at his desk, burying his face in his arms in utter confusion and desperation. His mind was reeling with the memories of his conversation with Elizabeth that night, the last night he would see her before Will came for his one day on shore…

He had found himself sitting on a marble bench by a gently splashing fountain. The moon was full in the sky, and in the distance up a gravel pathway that wound through carefully trimmed hedges and trellises, he could see a grand mansion whose ballroom was lit from within by a number of glittering chandeliers. The air was pleasantly warm but not at all humid or sticky, and the air around him was strongly scented with the thick perfume of roses. James closed his eyes for a moment, feeling very much like he was back in England, and realizing that he had missed it more than he had ever admitted to himself.

When he opened his eyes, he saw Elizabeth walking up the gravel path towards him, dressed in a lovely dark red dress, the moonlight glinting off of the diamonds that sparkled at her throat. James stood up and bowed low to her in mock formality.

'May I ask you to sit a while with me, mademoiselle?' he asked, kissing her hand.

Elizabeth laughed. 'I'm afraid not, sir, now if you'll excuse me…' Before she could walk on, James had spun her round by the hand and she half-fell onto the bench, still laughing.

'Thank you for so politely joining me, Elizabeth – now, how have you been over the last three months?' asked James, taking a seat next to her with a mischievous grin that betrayed his polite tone.

His stomach gave an anxious jolt as her face fell. 'Oh, James,' Elizabeth sighed wearily, putting her hands to her face and unconsciously rubbing the bridge of her nose with her forefingers, eyes closed.

'Is everything all right?' he asked, his voice low and urgent. He reached out and grasped her hand comfortingly. 'Is it young James?'

Elizabeth smiled weakly. 'No, no, he's fine,' she reassured James, 'but… you're going to think I'm such a fool for saying this…' She would not meet his gaze. A long silence stretched between them. 'It's about Will,' she said finally. 'James, in four days I'm going to see him for the first time in ten years, and I can't tell you how worried I am. It sounds silly, I know, but ten years is such a long time, and I don't know how much we've both changed: What if we've grown apart, or I look too old, or he doesn't love me anymore… or I don't love him anymore?'

James slowly became aware that his heart was beating rather fast. He swallowed, a bit unsure of how to respond. 'I'm sure everything will work out fine,' he said. 'Will would still love you no matter how you had changed…'

'But, James, what if he doesn't?' Tears were beginning to creep into her voice. 'I've never told anyone this, but there was a time, right after I killed Jack, when every time he looked at me I thought he hated me, his eyes were so cold. It was like he could read my mind, like he knew I'd killed Jack and he knew I'd kissed him before I did it…' She gave a shaky sob. 'What if it's the same thing all over again, that jealousy and hatred? After I've waited for him all these years? What if I just can't put up with it?'

James gave her a startled look as she broke down in tears. Wrapping his arms about her, he pulled her close to him and let her cry onto his shoulder. As he breathed in the smell of her hair, delicate amidst the heavy scent of the roses, he wondered how she could worry that Will, or anyone else for that matter, would not love her.

'Hush,' he whispered softly into her ear. 'You've done nothing that would make Will turn away from you, even if he really could read your mind.'

She pulled away, tears glistening on her cheeks, her face a beautiful mask of sadness.

'Oh, but I have, James,' she whispered guiltily. 'I've made the biggest mistake of all. I've fallen in love with you too.'

And the next moment her lips were pressed to his, the salty tears sliding onto his cheeks as she kissed him, and he took her in his arms and never wanted to let her go, wanted to freeze time in this moment of passionate bliss, wanted to protect her forever from whatever she would face when Will came back…

'Stop,' he gasped, pushing her away roughly, feeling the fiery intensity of the kiss still tingling on his lips and the wild pulsing of his heart. Her eyes looked at him, filled with questions and pain. 'Elizabeth, I… I can't.'

'You can't what?' she breathed, looking imploringly at him.

He shook his head, trying to figure out how to explain to her the confusion that was flooding his senses, how he wanted her more than he had wanted anything, but he knew he could not have her. She had sworn her heart to Will, not to him. She belonged to the world of the living, he to the land of shadows.

'I'm sorry,' he finally whispered, and, turning away so she would not see the tear that fell down his cheek to mingle with the tears she had left on his cheeks, he rose slowly from the bench and walked off back into the darkness that would return him to the Locker.

* * *

James pounded a fist against the desk, feeling more conflicted even than when he had made his decision to steal the heart of Davy Jones from Will and Sparrow. 'Why?!' he roared in frustration to no one in particular. The sound of his outburst echoed hollowly through the empty ship.

'Because you wanted it,' replied a soft voice behind him.

James looked behind him and jumped slightly when he saw Calypso, dressed once more as a noblewoman, sitting on the edge of his bunk and regarding him with a knowing look. Trying not to let too much of the emotional pain he was feeling show on his face, James rose to his feet and gave her a bow much more serious than the one he had given Elizabeth only minutes before.

'How may I help you?' he asked, trying to keep his voice from breaking in his misery.

The goddess gave him a mysterious smile. 'The question, James Norrington, is how can I help you?'

James stared down at the floor, his hand clenched. 'It's not fair to her, that an act of selfishness on my part should make her so conflicted. I don't know what I'm supposed to do – I don't want to abandon her, but I can't keep visiting her and tear her heart apart.' He glanced up at the goddess. 'More than anything, I just want her to be happy.'

The goddess nodded, not even bothering to ask what he was talking about – James had the feeling she already knew.

'I think,' she replied cryptically, 'the time has come for me to collect my price.'

James stared at her a moment, wondering why on earth she had chosen this moment to remind him that he owed her a debt; the next second, he felt the anger well up in him unexpectedly, and his old wound began to throb. 'You don't care,' he said coldly. 'I'm just a pawn, then, am I? You don't care about my feelings, or Elizabeth's, or even Will Turner's… have you forgotten what happened when you betrayed the man you loved, when he betrayed you? Are you just going to stand by and let it happen again?' He glared at her. 'And how could you take Turner from her in the first place, after you went through so much pain yourself?'

Calypso blinked slowly, her expression unreadable. After a long moment, she said quietly, 'You know the law – the _Dutchman_ must have a captain. It is how things keep in balance – I could not change it if I wanted to. You know this, so what is it you expect me to do for you and Miss Elizabeth?' James opened his mouth to protest, but before he could say anything the goddess gave a soft laugh. 'Haven't you realized, it is not up to me to do anything, it is up to you.' Taken somewhat aback, James hastily shut his mouth, wondering what on earth Calypso could mean. As if reading his mind, she continued: 'You yourself have already said two things you can do – stay, or pass on.' She rose to leave, and then added: 'There is one more option, one that would require more strength and courage than the others… yes, the one you are thinking of even now as we speak.'

'And would that be payment enough for you?' asked James, steadying his voice – he was not sure he liked how readily the sea goddess read his mind.

She smiled a slightly wild and definitely unnerving smile. 'I think so, if it is the price you are willing to pay for her happiness.' Before he could ask any questions, she continued: 'I will give you three days, and tell you what to do when the time comes. Is that enough?'

James bit his lip, wondering if the choice he was considering was truly the right one. 'I'm sorry if I seem rude for asking, but is this the only reason you let me keep on seeing her, so I would agree to this?'

The goddess shrugged. 'I cannot foresee the future, only the possibilities. True, based on your bravery, and your devotion to Elizabeth, and your sense of honor, I could have predicted this, but then you are a very unpredictable man, James Norrington. Very unpredictable indeed. The choice, therefore, is yours and yours alone. There is no destiny I have already set before you. If this is what you choose, it must be because you yourself are willing to face it.'

James sighed, and as he did so, he felt the small book that Elizabeth had written in, concealed in a hidden pocket of his coat next to his heart. At that moment, he knew that the decision he was about to make was the right choice for all of them. He stretched out a hand for Calypso to take.

'Done.'


	19. Part III: Three Days to Live - An Unexpected Rescuer

The next thing James knew, he was floating just below the surface of the Caribbean, watching brightly-colored fish flit about his face in the shimmering light of the dawn. With a gasp, his head broke the surface of the water and the clear tropical sunlight fell on his face for the first time in over ten years. James, treading water, stared up at the deep blue sky shot with streaks of morning gold for a minute, and then he began to laugh, kicking his legs to propel himself through the warm seawater, feeling his heart send blood coursing through his veins once more. He felt something on his head and pulled off his hat and wig, both of which had reappeared along with the admiral himself due to the fact he had been wearing them at the time of his death; impatiently, he threw both off into the waves and watched them bob away before lazily doing a backstroke through the water. It was wonderful to be alive again.

At that same moment, he also realized that he was adrift at sea with no means of getting to shore and no idea where he was going. The other disadvantage to being alive, James decided as a stitch in his side made him gasp in discomfort, was that it was all too easy to die, and he had not asked the goddess to let him come back to the realms of the living just so he could go through that unpleasant experience again.

Panting for breath, James was almost resigned to his inevitable immediate death when he became aware of a large ship looming up behind him. To his great relief, he heard someone shout, 'Man overboard!' and the next minute a rope was thrown down, which he grasped gratefully as the strong hands of the crew pulled him up and over the edge of the ship.

Dripping with salty water and coughing up more of the same, James pulled himself clumsily to his feet and looked up to thank his rescuers, and received quite a shock.

'Mr Gibbs!'

The bewildered sailor blinked in disbelief. 'Commodore?' he said in amazement. His face was as sunburnt and whiskery as ever, but all of his hair was salt-and-peppered now, and his beard was almost completely white.

James grinned. 'No, not anymore, Mr Gibbs, haven't we had this conversation before?'

'I… I thought you were dead, sir,' said Mr Gibbs, scratching his head. 'Miss Elizabeth said she saw you die.'

'And so she did,' agreed James, 'but as you might have noticed, Mr Gibbs, people in these waters do have a knack for coming back to life, do they not?'

Mr Gibbs stared at James, then back out to the horizon, and began muttering something about a green flash under his breath.

'What's all this here, Mr Gibbs,' called an all too familiar voice, ' "man overboard," did I hear you shout?' James shut his eyes at the irony as Jack Sparrow sauntered into view and stared perplexedly at James for a moment. He hoped full well that there had to be some good reason for him to have ended up on this ship, other than for Calypso's amusement, that was.

'Throw him back over the edge, mate,' muttered Jack to Mr Gibbs, gesturing towards the railing with his thumb.

'Sparrow!' James cut in before Mr Gibbs could do anything.

Jack turned back to James and made a face at James's shirt; James too looked down and noticed that his shirt was stained with his blood, presumably from the impaling Bootstrap had given him, though James could no longer see any wound.

'You look bloody awful,' said Jack, wrinkling his nose, 'what are you doing here?' James vaguely remembered having had a very similar conversation once with this same man. 'I thought you were dead.'

'Oh, I was,' James assured the pirate. 'However, when one is offered a deal with a sea goddess, it's often best not to pass it up.'

Jack stared at James again, and then began to weave his way towards the cabins. 'You'd best come explain all this to me, mate… for once I'm having a bit of trouble putting two and two together,' he said to James, who followed the pirate in mild amusement, watching the breeze billow the huge white sails of the ship against the brightening sky and cherishing every moment of this second chance at life.

A dark-skinned woman wearing baggy pirate's clothes was sitting in the cabin that Jack led James into, reading a map by candlelight with her brow furrowed and fiddling absently with a strand of her wavy black hair. She looked up as the door clicked shut behind her and immediately leapt to her feet, drawing her sword at the sight of James's naval uniform.

'It's all right, love, he's not an admiral any longer!' said Jack hurriedly, waving his hands. The woman continued to scowl at James, but sheathed her sword and moved to stand next to Jack, her eyes still suspicious. 'This, dear former-admiral, is my lovely wife, Anamaria.' Jack threw an arm about her shoulder, which she slapped off playfully, smiling and allowing her eyes to flicker affectionately towards Jack for a moment before fixing themselves back on James. 'And this, love, is James Norrington, formerly known as the man who spent half his time trying to kill me, and, incidentally, also the man whose actions indirectly managed to kill me.'

By this point James too was scowling, though not nearly so much as Anamaria who confronted Jack and shouted, 'In the name of heaven, Jack, why on earth did you let him on the ship, then? I won't allow him to stay on a moment longer, and don't you even think of arguing with me,' she snarled, pointing her finger at Jack, who was trying his best to assuage her with a winning smile.

'Anamaria, dear,' he said, gently pulling her hand down and still grinning a bit nervously, 'it just so happens that said ex-admiral has a very powerful, very dangerous sea goddess on his side, and any move we may try to make may result in death and destruction for the entire crew, and we wouldn't want that now, would we?' Before she could respond, he began to steer her towards the door. 'And now, if you don't mind, I need to take a moment or two to discuss some business with our visitor, so if you'd step outside…' Despite her heated protests, Jack closed the door firmly behind his wife, and turned to James. He gestured to a pair of chairs facing each other across a table, and the two men sat down.

'Rum?' asked Jack cheerily, uncorking a half-filled bottle. James shook his head stubbornly. Jack shrugged with one shoulder and took a swig. James suddenly realized that even Jack Sparrow had aged – his eyes, though bright as ever, shone from a face that was more lined than James remembered, and flecks of gray were beginning to show in his carefully braided beard. For some reason, the idea of Jack growing old made James feel even more mortal than he had felt at the time of his death.

'So, mate, what's this about Calypso, now?' Jack asked, leaning back in his seat and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

James opened his mouth to reply, but the next second the door swung open again and a small, dark figure with a smudge of dirt on her nose and wide-brimmed hat perched jauntily on her head flew into the room.

'Ooh, Mum's mad something fierce, what'd you do this time?' asked the little girl eagerly, bouncing over to Jack. It was only then that she took note of the stranger in their midst. 'Who's he?' she asked, narrowing her sparkling black eyes in a suspicious look very much like the one James had been fixed with moments before.

Jack gestured wearily towards the young girl. 'Norrie, my daughter, Ariana Sparrow,' he explained to James, 'and, Ari, this is…'

'James Norrington, at your service,' replied James with a polite nod. He hadn't much liked Jack's last introduction, and was quite certain he didn't want to make any more enemies aboard the ship than he already had. The little girl nodded curtly at him.

'Well, there you have it,' said Jack airily to his daughter. 'Off you go, now!'

Ariana stayed where she was, arms crossed defiantly. 'You're not captain aboard this ship, Mum is – you can't order me anywhere!' she argued. 'Now, come on, Papa, tell me what Mum's mad about!'

'Ari,' said Jack impatiently, 'out! Shoo!' He waved her towards the door.

Sighing melodramatically, Ariana made a face at her father and slid out the door, closing it behind her.

'Kids,' groaned Jack, rubbing his forehead. 'Word of advice, Norrie – steer clear of them. Women too… well, in all fairness, only the ones who want to marry you.' James got the distinct impression that Jack was acting much more miserable than he actually felt.

'Why'd you do it, then?' he asked Jack. 'Get married, I mean.'

'Why?' Jack scratched his chin, looking as though he hadn't thought about it in a while. 'Well, first off, I owed her a ship. Paid her back with your bloody _Interceptor_ , but then Barbossa blew it up, so she considered the payment null, and seeing as Barbossa went ahead and bloody stole my _Pearl_ , I couldn't find any other source of payment. Besides, I knew she'd taken a strong liking to me first time she met me. Suppose it had something to do with the fact I rescued her from slavery… from the clutches of your mate Beckett, in fact.'

James frowned at the association. 'Not my "mate," Mr Sparrow – never my "mate." '

'Ah, well…' Jack shrugged in apology. 'At any rate, enough of that. What's this about Tia Dal- Calypso, rather, then?'

'What, indeed.' James sighed and leaned forward a bit. 'The fact of the matter is, I've been dead for the last ten years until Calypso brought me back to life today, and I have exactly three days to find Elizabeth, or else go back to my dreary existence in the Locker. And, seeing as you've already spent some time there, I'd imagine you'd feel a bit of sympathy for anyone trapped there alone.'

Jack raised his eyebrows. 'You mean there was only one of you?' he asked in interest.

James had no idea what Jack was talking about, and honestly did not want to take the time to find out. 'Look, what I really need is for you to sail me to wherever Elizabeth is and just drop me off there.'

'What's in it for me, then?'

James looked at Jack, startled. 'What?'

Jack grinned, his gold teeth glittering. 'Pirate,' he said by means of explanation. ' "Take what you can, give nothing back," and all that. In this world, mate, _everything_ is a matter of leverage.' He spread his hands in a nonchalant shrug. 'So, tell me, why would I waste two whole days ferrying you about to wherever dear old Lizzie is, when I could be actively pursuing my stolen ship?'

'You said it yourself, Sparrow,' James reminded him grimly. 'I have a very powerful, very dangerous sea goddess on my side, and any move you may try to make could result in death and destruction for the entire crew.'

Jack opened his mouth, found nothing to say, and nodded in defeat. 'Fair enough, then, mate, only…' He rose to his feet. 'I for one have absolutely no idea where Elizabeth is, seeing as the last time I encountered her it was a complete accident. So if you have any brilliant ideas for how to track damsels in distress, or else maps courtesy of your sea goddess, I suggest you share before said sea goddess sends the ship and us down to the depths, savvy?'

James smiled smugly. 'Oh, I think I can take care of that, Mr Sparrow. Your compass, please.'

Surprised, Jack hesitated a second before pulling the compass from his belt and handing it to James. 'Once upon a time, you refused to believe me when I called this compass unique,' he reminded James, watching as James flipped the compass open and watched its needle swing with his brow furrowed.

'Once upon a time, Mr Sparrow, I was a very different man, and, what's more, I was at the aforementioned moment a very drunk man.' The needle stopped and Jack peered over James's shoulder to look at the bearing. The two men looked at each other, James with a rather self-satisfied look, and Jack with a widening grin.

'I should have known you'd come over to my side eventually,' he said gesturing for James to follow him up to the deck.

'Beg your pardon?' James raised his eyebrows. 'I'll have you know that I blame that entire mess on Tortuga and what followed on an excess of rum and disappointment.'

Jack stopped and turned to face the former admiral on the stairs. 'And that, mate, is where you're completely wrong. You'd always been intrigued by the idea of piracy, admit it – the motivations behind the actions, the men behind the dreadful reputations. And when you finally escaped that prison they call the British Navy, you decided you wanted to see how it felt to live without any rules.'

'Oh?' James snorted, trying to sound disdainful while internally assessing how much of what Jack had said was true. 'What makes you so confident?'

Jack grinned. 'One word, mate. Curiosity. You longed for freedom. You longed to do what you wanted to do because you wanted it. To act on selfish impulse. You wanted to see what it's like. Face it, mate, you weren't able to resist.' He shrugged, ignoring James's confused stare. 'Course, I probably should've seen the whole betrayal coming. Important part in any pirate's life, mate, your first betrayal – defining moment, if you will. And, being a man of action, I should've guessed you'd want to make that leap as quick as possible.'

'And where did it get me, Sparrow, further into piracy or back out onto a respectable path?' James's head was reeling from trying to figure out exactly what Jack was saying. It didn't help any when Jack turned to him with a smug expression and said, 'Ah, is it the "dark side of ambition" or the "promise of redemption," that what you really mean? What do _you_ think, mate?'

James tried to think of a clever retort and failed.

'See,' smirked Jack. 'Pirate. And if you don't believe me, Norrie, keep in mind that pirates make a living of taking what rightfully belongs to someone else.' He gave a bewildered James another cheeky grin before turning and heading back out onto the deck without another word.


	20. Part III: Three Days to Live - Aboard the Black Pearl

James had forgotten how much he missed sailing, albeit on a pirate ship. Having given Jack the heading they needed and washed the bloodstains as best he could from his shirt and jacket, he roamed about the ship, appreciating everything from the rock-solid hardtack to the roll of the decks beneath his feet. Initially, the rest of Jack's crew regarded him as suspiciously as Anamaria had (all but Mr Gibbs, who quickly decided that the former admiral's return to life was not a cause for alarm), but when they saw that James had no intention to cause any trouble and was in fact quite willing to help hoist any sails or tie any lines, they grudgingly accepted him on board.

The wind blew strong all day in the direction they were heading – James had a strong feeling that it was not just coincidence. He wondered if the empty threat he had used on Jack about Calypso and her wrath had held more truth than he had guessed.

That evening, James stood on the deck watching the first real sunset he had seen in a decade, admiring the colors that the sun's dying light threw across the horizon. His thoughts turned to Elizabeth, and he wondered if she was watching this same sunset and thinking about Will, the golden rays of light making her skin glow. Lost in his thoughts, he did not notice Ariana Sparrow pop up at his elbow.

'You all right there?' she asked. James started, looked about, and finally looked down at the little girl.

'Oh! Yes, yes, I'm quite all right, thank you,' he replied, a bit flustered.

'Mum says you're from the Navy and you're planning to kill all of us, but Papa says you're a pirate just come back from the dead and won't,' she said matter-of-factly. James laughed.

'And what do you think?' he asked, curious to hear what her answer would be.

She gave him a scrutinizing look, and said, 'I think your jacket looks very uncomfortable – aren't you far too warm in it?'

James began to laugh again at the randomness of this comment, and was about to reply when the silhouette of a ship against the sun caught his attention. Ariana followed his gaze, then scampered across the deck shouting, 'Mum! Mum! It's the _Pearl_!'

'What?' said Jack, poking his head out from his cabin and running on unsteady legs up to the deck on which James stood. 'About time I got my ship back, I'm sick of being stuck on this bloody wreck…' Anamaria, who had followed Jack up to the deck, slapped him across the face for this insult to her boat. Jack, whimpering sadly, looked to Mr Gibbs for help, and gave the old sailor a hurt look when he chuckled and said, 'No, Jack, you really did deserve that one.' Shrugging off the slap, Jack turned towards the approaching ship.

'Oi!' he roared, waving his arms wildly at the figures on the _Pearl's_ deck and nearly hitting James in the face. 'Parlay, parlay! Don't even think about blowing holes in my wife's ship! Barbossa, a word with you, if you don't mind!'

The two ships were nearly parallel now, and between the fading rays of the sun and the pearly glow of the rising moon, James could clearly see the faces of the crew of the _Black Pearl_. Two of the men he recognized – Pintel stood jeering and brandishing a sword, somewhat more bald than James remembered, with Ragetti positioned right next to him, sporting an eye patch where his wooden eye had been and doing his best to look menacing. James rolled his eyes, remembering the time he had spent aboard the _Pearl_ with them – _what buffoons_ , he thought to himself. But his thoughts were cut short when a man with a scraggly beard and a large hat shoved his way to the front of the crowd of jeering pirates, who immediately fell silent.

'Jack,' he sneered, leaning against the railing of his ship with a calculating smile. 'What service may I do for ye?'

'Barbossa,' Jack greeted him. 'High time you gave me back my ship, eh?'

' _Your_ ship?' Barbossa laughed mockingly. 'And where might _your_ ship be – surely you're not referrin' to _my_ ship, are ya Jack?'

'Surely we can reach some agreement,' called Jack over the sniggers of Barbossa's crew. 'I buy you a new hat, and you give me back the _Pearl_ …'

'Uncle Hector!' shouted Ariana, bouncing to the railing and waving at Barbossa, who to James's confusion gave a genuine smile and called, 'Hello, Ari.' Jack rolled his eyes. 'For the last time, Ari, you're not allowed to call him "Uncle Hector" unless _I_ have possession of the _Pearl_ and he's not acting like the scurvy rogue he is...'

'How's this,' shouted James, finally speaking up as Jack continued to scold his daughter, 'you lend us the _Pearl_ for two days on the condition we give it back.'

Barbossa raised an eyebrow. 'I'm disinclined to acquiesce to your request,' he sneered. 'I'm not a fool, and I know very well that if I give him,' he jerked his head at Jack, 'control of my ship, I won't be seein' it again for quite some time.' He stopped and looked closely at James for the first time. 'Who are ya, anyway?' he asked James; from out of the corner of his eye, James saw Pintel's jaw drop slightly as he nudged Ragetti hard in the ribs with his elbow.

'Not a pirate, and therefore someone whose word can be trusted,' answered James.

'It's the commodore!' shouted Pintel in disbelief.

'Yeah, and all that about him being so trustworthy is a load of 'ogwash,' added Ragetti, 'he tried to kill Cap'n Jack, remember?'

'Yeah…' Pintel shook his head, still slightly stunned. 'But Will was tryin' to kill Cap'n Jack too, remember, and _he_ turned out all right…'

' _What_ are you talkin' about, you blitherin' idiots?' snapped Barbossa.

'Commodore Norrington,' said Pintel, pointing at James. Barbossa immediately glared at James, his eyes narrowed.

'Ah,' he growled. 'Then you'll be the one who had my entire crew hanged after that whole adventure on the Isla de Muerta.'

'Except us, 'cause we escaped thanks to Divine Providence,' piped up Ragetti. Barbossa ignored him.

'I admit I did,' replied James, 'but I would remind you that I was just doing my job, and your crew had launched a surprise attack and already killed a number of my crew when I apprehended them… not to mention they did quite a bit of damage to both people and property back at Port Royal. I therefore think that their hanging was well justified.'

'Aye,' agreed Barbossa, 'but they were just doin' their job too, I'd remind you.'

James rolled his eyes, amazed at Barbossa's inability to differentiate massacre from self-defense. 'Pirates. So, can we borrow the ship or no?'

'What difference does it make to you?' asked Barbossa rudely. 'I thought you just said you were _not_ a pirate.'

'No, but I do have need of the fastest ship in the Caribbean, and believe that that would be the _Black Pearl_.'

'Aye, that it would be,' said Barbossa fondly, 'but you've still given me no good reason to comply with your demands.'

'Hmm,' said James. 'Does the name "Calypso" mean anything to you, Mr Barbossa?'

Barbossa narrowed his eyes. 'And if it did?' he asked warily.

'If it did, you might be interested to know that it is the wish of Calypso that I reach my destination as quickly as possible.' James watched Barbossa closely and was pleased to notice that he looked distinctly uncomfortable for a moment. 'So, if you won't let us use the ship, then perhaps you would agree to take me to my destination?'

Barbossa thought for a second, looked cautiously up at the sky, and finally said, 'Agreed.'

'Now, wait just a moment, here,' cut in Jack. 'You will still have need for my compass, and I have no intention of letting you run off with it, Norrie, sorry to say.'

'Well, you'll just have to come along then, too, won't you?' said James with some irritation. Grabbing hold of a rope, he swung himself over to the deck of the _Black Pearl_.

'Wait, come back!' yelled Jack, waving his arms in agitation. He turned to Anamaria. 'Sorry, love, but I've got some business to attend to – meet me on Tortuga in a few days, savvy?' She rolled her eyes slightly but could not resist giving him a quick kiss. 'Be good now, you hear? No more stealing Mr Gibbs's rum,' Jack said to Ariana, tweaking her nose lovingly before grabbing another rope and swinging over to the _Pearl_ as it began to turn and sail away.

'What,' said Jack, landing unsteadily on the deck and stumbling over to James, 'was that all about?'

James raised an eyebrow. 'I thought you'd see that this works to both our advantage,' he said, 'I get to Elizabeth quicker, and you can keep an eye on the _Pearl_ and take it back…'

'… at the opportune moment,' finished Jack, realization dawning on his face. 'I give you credit, mate, this works for me.'

'Glad to hear it, Jack.'

'Oh, are we on first-name terms now? This mean I can call you Jimmy…?'

' _No_.'

'Very well, then…' Jack glanced lovingly about the deck of his former ship. 'Shall we go give the helmsman the heading, then?'

'After you.'

As they made their way to the helm, Barbossa thrust a warning finger at Jack. 'Rest assured I'll be keepin' an eye on ye, Jack, so no funny business now, ya hear?'

'Funny business?' said Jack with an innocent face. 'Come now, Hector, since when have I ever done anything that would make you suspect me of…'

'Don't try to pull this act off on me, Jack!' Jack leaned back slightly as Barbossa leaned menacingly towards him, biting into a juicy apple with a loud crunch. 'First sign of a mutiny, and it's off to Davy Jones's Locker with you!'

'Will Turner's Locker, actually,' muttered Jack as Barbossa stalked moodily down to his cabin. James snorted with laughter, wondering how Jack and Barbossa would survive a whole day of each other's presence.

* * *

James was not disappointed – he watched in amusement as Jack and Barbossa spent the whole next day fighting for the acknowledgement of the crew as captain. By noon, though, it had become a bit wearying to watch Jack bob constantly next to Barbossa, counteracting everything the latter had to say. James sighed, watching Ragetti chase Pintel around the deck because Pintel had stolen his eye patch, and thinking about Elizabeth once again. Would she be irritated at him for having come back to life? Would she be angry that he was planning on dropping in on her so unexpectedly? Would she let him meet her son, and if so, would they like each other? And how would Elizabeth react to what James had come back from the Locker to do? He shook his head, deciding that he would not tell her why he had come back – she would find out soon enough.

A cry from Ragetti made James look up – an island was looming on the horizon, the waters about it sparkling in the afternoon sun. James peeked at the compass he was clutching in his hand – the hand was pointing to the north end of the island. Snapping the compass closed, James turned to talk to the helmsman and found himself face to face with Barbossa.

'I regret to say that we'll have to drop you off here, Commodore,' said Barbossa, not looking regretful in the slightest. 'The inhabitants of these islands tend not to take too kindly to pirates, and I won't be givin' you the opportunity to sound the alarm on us.'

'Fair enough,' agreed James, a bit startled at having been addressed with his former title. Placing the compass in Jack's hand, he turned and did a graceful swan dive into the sea. 'Thank you!' he called as he emerged on the surface of the water and began to swim to shore.

'So long, Norrie!' called Jack with a wave. He turned to find Barbossa's sword pointed at his throat. 'Oh.'

'Now Jack,' sneered Barbossa, 'you didn't think I'd let you stay on my ship any longer than necessary, did ya?'

'Well, I actually thought…'

'You thought wrong!' snarled Barbossa, advancing. 'I won't take the chance of losing my ship to you in some ridiculous fashion, not after the last time you stole it from me!' He brandished the sword. 'Off you go!'

Jack gave him a hurt look. 'Right, mate, but if the villagers decide to have me hung, my blood is on your hands, and I expect you'll be extra polite to my wife and daughter when you meet them, eh?'

Barbossa rolled his eyes. 'I'll be sure to give a touching eulogy at your funeral, Jack,' he said sarcastically, 'now OFF!'

Grumbling, Jack pocketed his compass and, giving the railing a last fond pat, jumped from the deck of his ship and swam after James.


	21. Part III: Three Days to Live - Elizabeth

James dragged himself onto the sand, coughing up a bit of seawater. He allowed himself to collapse on the beach, panting, water dripping from the ends of his coat. Behind him, he heard a second figure drag himself up onto the shore, mumbling curses under his breath. Turning his head, James saw a drenched Jack Sparrow crawling towards him, eyeliner trailing down his face.

'Bloody hell, Norrington, look at the mess you've gotten me into!' he groaned, pulling off a boot and dumping a large quantity of water out of it. 'I've lost my bloody ship, I have no way of getting to Tortuga to find my bloody wife and daughter, and I have you to thank for all of it!' Jack sighed. 'If I don't get hanged by the villagers on this island, I hope you know I expect you to pay me back for all this trouble, Norrie, preferably in the form of rum…'

'Sparrow…' snapped James.

'CAPTAIN Sparrow!' roared Jack in frustration.

'Fine, _Captain_ Sparrow,' James corrected himself with an impatient sigh, 'I'm sure if you come with me to find Elizabeth she'll be quite willing to hide you and make sure that no harm comes to you. And I promise I won't turn you in for being a pirate – I'm quite past that stage of my life, thank you.' He rose to his feet and held out a hand to help Jack up, which Jack took begrudgingly. 'Now I'm going to go see if there's a place for me to wash up before I go looking for Elizabeth.'

'Fine by me, mate,' said Jack, brushing the sand off his front, 'but I think I'll stay here and out of view, if you don't mind.'

James tried not to laugh at the thought of Jack Sparrow bathing in the first place – it would be most out of character. James briefly wondered if Jack even knew what a bar of soap was. Smiling to himself, he set off down the beach to find the village.

* * *

Two hours later, having washed up at an inn in the village and even managed to get a shave, James returned to the beach where he had left Jack Sparrow, who was standing in the water, miserably flicking his compass open and closed with one hand while holding onto his hat with the other so the wind would not blow it out to sea.

'What are you doing?' asked James, staring at Jack.

Jack looked over his shoulder at James. 'What's it look like I'm doing?' he asked, as though it was obvious. 'Trying to see if any sea turtles will come within a foot of me if I stand here long enough.'

James decided not to ask what on earth Jack was talking about. 'Here,' he said, tossing a bottle of rum to Jack, who caught it and looked at James with an eyebrow raised.

'Where'd you get this?' he asked.

James shrugged. 'Just because I've sworn off the stuff doesn't mean I can't get some for you. I found that Calypso happened to leave me a purse with a few coins in it when she… well, brought me back to life. At any rate,' he gestured to Jack, 'drink up if you want to, we've got some walking to do if the villagers were telling the truth.'

The pirate and the ex-admiral wended their way up several steep hills covered in wild flowers. James picked a few of the prettiest he saw to give to Elizabeth, feeling rather foolish, as if he was an amorous schoolboy, but hoping that Elizabeth would appreciate the thought anyway. It was almost dusk, and not a soul was in sight save for a few seabirds circling overhead with mournful cries. Jack stumbled along behind James, taking swigs of rum as he went, while James tried to ignore the lump of nerves that was rising to his throat.

'Look!' said Jack as they crested a hill, grabbing James by the shoulder and gesturing with his bottle. A small cottage lay almost hidden by trees in the folds of the valley, just near a small stream that was silver in the failing light. Heart thumping wildly, James began to walk quickly down the hill, then broke into a run as Jack yelled behind him to slow down. He waited as Jack skidded to a halt behind him at the bottom of the hill and slopped quite a bit of rum onto his boots at the sudden stop.

'Well, don't just stand there, go knock on the door!' snapped Jack, kicking his foot in the air to try to get some of the rum off.

'I will,' said James, his stomach now doing somersaults. It was one thing to see Elizabeth within the context of a dream, but this was her real life, and again he let all his hidden fears rise unbidden to the surface of his mind…

'Fine, mate, if you won't, then I will,' muttered Jack, striding forward and rapping his knuckles on the door before James could say a word.

With a gentle creak, the door swung open, and James's heart fluttered as he heard a familiar voice give a surprised laugh and say, 'Jack! What are you doing here?'

'A series of unfortunate and completely unforeseeable circumstances, love,' replied Jack as Elizabeth threw her arms around his neck, still laughing.

'And how are Anamaria and little Ariana?' she asked.

'Fine, fine,' Jack sighed. 'Listen, Lizzie, I've got a bit of a dilemma before me – I promised Anamaria I'd meet up with her in a few days' time on Tortuga, but, sadly, circumstances have left me on this island with no ship.'

'Oh.' Elizabeth sounded mildly surprised. 'Right, then. Well, I'm sure we could manage to get you a passage on some ship sailing to Tortuga, or that general direction, at least…'

'Come on, Lizzie, wouldn't it be easier for me just to commandeer a nearby ship?'

'I was trying to not give you any ideas,' laughed Elizabeth. 'So what brings you here, in the first place?'

'Ah,' said Jack, 'the question is not so much "what" as it is "who"… You coming then?' Jack turned and raised his eyebrows at James, who was standing half in the shadows, trying not to let his nerves get the better of him.

Elizabeth's eyes followed Jack's and she froze. 'James,' she whispered, completely forgetting about Jack.

'Elizabeth,' he answered with a wobbly smile. He watched as, without taking her eyes off of him for a second, she stepped around Jack and threw herself into his embrace.

'Well, this isn't awkward in the slightest,' said Jack, watching James bury his nose in Elizabeth's hair and breathe in the scent of roses mixed with sea breeze. 'Shall I go find a place in the woods to spend the night, then?' He strode off, leering at James with a mischievous 'I-told-you-so' look as he did.

James stood there for a few moments longer, stroking Elizabeth's hair in an attempt to comfort her while listening to her quietly weep.

'How…?' she asked finally, pulling her face away from his shoulder and gazing up at him.

'Calypso,' he said softly. 'Elizabeth, I can only stay here for another day, and then I… I must go,' he said, remembering that he had sworn to himself not to tell her why he had returned.

She nodded, a few tears slowly trickling down her face. James gently wiped them off her cheeks with his finger. 'Are you angry?' he asked her.

'No, not at all,' she said, attempting to smile. 'It's good to see you again, James.'

She had not changed at all in James's opinion, except perhaps there were a few more lines on her beautiful face, and years of maternal worry and care had made her eyes wiser but no less bright. It struck him that although he had been seven years older than her when he had died, she was now three years older than he.

'You look very much like you did when we met in Tortuga,' Elizabeth was saying, 'only clean-shaven, and less dirty, and not drunk. But you have the same free look about you.'

James was very much aware that their faces were only a few inches apart, and he quickly turned his thoughts elsewhere.

'So I finally get to see your home, and your son.'

'Oh, yes, Jamie,' said Elizabeth. 'He should be coming home sometime soon… I'm glad to say that he's had quite a bit more success at making friends than I have.'

'And you really don't mind if I meet him?' James couldn't help but remember her reluctance in letting Jack meet the boy, and was afraid that perhaps his presence might have the same effect.

Elizabeth laughed, and, as if reading his mind, replied, 'James, the boy spends so much time day-dreaming about his future career as an admiral in the Royal Navy that I doubt even meeting Jack could turn him from the path he has already chosen.'

'Yes, well,' James sighed, 'that's what I'd thought too.'

Elizabeth looked seriously at him. 'I'm not going to allow you to spend all your time regretting things that cannot be taken back, James,' she said. 'Now come on, let's see if we can think up any ways to smuggle Jack out of here.' And, taking his hand, she led him into the cottage.

Bands of fading afternoon sunlight were strewn across the neat cottage, a number of papers stacked neatly on the edge of a wooden table, a basket of clothes sitting on the bench next to the table, a fire with a pot hanging over it crackling merrily in the stone fireplace. Small shells and stones lined the window sills, and on top of the mantelpiece was a very familiar metal box from which James could almost hear a pulse beating faintly. Seating himself on the bench, he watched as Elizabeth leaned over to stir the stew in the pot, and noticed as she did so that hanging about her neck was the curious key for which he had once been prepared to kill two men.

'Smells good,' commented James, inhaling a deep whiff of Elizabeth's cooking.

'Thank you,' she replied, ladling some into a bowl and placing it, steaming, on the table before James. 'Now, about Jack… I've been thinking, if we could only get him into some normal clothes, perhaps we could pass him off as an eccentric gentleman until he gets to Tortuga…'

James nearly choked on his spoonful of soup. 'Just eccentric?' he spluttered, trying not to laugh.

'Well, all right, a slightly mad gentleman with an extreme fondness for rum, then. At any rate, we'll need to find him clothes. Now, I think his shirt will be fine, it's more his jacket and trousers and hat that I'm worried about… and his hair, too, come to think of it.' Elizabeth frowned slightly. 'And his eye makeup, that will have to go too…'

James, who was in the middle of taking another bite of hot stew, forced himself to not to chuckle at the thought of Jack without his eyeliner. For the first time in ten years, he was feeling slightly guilty at having gotten rid of his wig – he could see it might have come in use now to cover up Jack's dreadlocks.

'But where to get men's clothes?' Elizabeth wrung her hands anxiously, staring into the fire with her eyebrows furrowed. 'I can't go out and just buy a man's jacket, can you imagine the rumours that would begin to fly about…?'

'Give him mine,' said James, pulling off his jacket and thrusting it towards Elizabeth. She blinked in surprise, then took it.

'Are… are you sure?' she asked.

'Positive. I won't be needing it any more, and this way you won't need to commit another act of piracy by having to steal one.' James smirked as she playfully slapped his hand.

'Why I ever let you in for dinner in the first place, I'll never know…' She sighed melodramatically, then scowled as she examined the jacket more closely. 'James, there's a huge hole in the back of this jacket. What on earth did you do to it?'

'Oh.' James shrugged casually. 'Must have been where Bootstrap speared me through the center with a plank.'

Elizabeth flinched, still staring at the hole in the jacket. 'I'll be able to mend it somewhat,' she muttered, 'but the bloodstains…' She shook her head, as if coming out of a deep reverie. 'It'll do,' she concluded, a troubled look still creasing her face.

A creak made both James and Elizabeth jump, and a moment later a small face peered around the edge of the door. 'Mum?' said James Turner, stepping around the door and looking in some confusion at the man for whom he had been named.

James gasped inaudibly – the boy looked exactly like a young version of Will. In fact, had he not known that this was Will's son, he would have sworn that it was a slightly younger copy of the boy whom his crew had saved from a shipwreck on the Atlantic so many years ago. James rose to his feet, staring in amazement.

'Jamie.' Elizabeth had set down the jacket and crossed to the door, closing it after her son. 'This is my very dear friend, James Norrington. He's the man I named you after.'

'Pleased to meet you, sir,' said Jamie politely, holding out a hand that James took with a grin.

'The pleasure's mine.'

'Mr Norrington has just had a very long and tiring journey, so he'll be staying with us until tomorrow evening,' explained Elizabeth to Jamie, who had slipped off his boots and left them with his books by the door.

'I promise you'll barely have any reason to notice me,' James assured the boy, who was looking the slightest bit alarmed at this intrusion of his privacy.

'No, no, it's fine,' said Jamie hastily as Elizabeth passed him another bowl of stew. 'We've just never had visitors before.' He took a spoonful of stew. James raised his eyebrows at Elizabeth.

'Well, I'm sure the two of you will get along fine,' said Elizabeth. 'Jamie, I have to attend to some business tomorrow morning, so perhaps you could show Mr Norrington about the island while I'm gone? Perhaps he could even tell you some tales about when he used to be an admiral in the Navy.'

Jamie's eyes grew wide as he stared in awe at James, who gave an embarrassed grin in return. 'All right,' he conceded, 'but only the good ones.' He raised an eyebrow at Elizabeth, and she understood this to mean nothing involving herself as a pirate, or Jack Sparrow.

They finished eating in silence, although James noticed that Jamie glanced up at him several times as if about to ask a question. Outside, the sun had set in a blaze of gold, and the stars were one by one flickering into the night sky. Finally, Elizabeth excused Jamie from the table and told him to go to bed if he had no schoolwork. Kissing his mother good night on the cheek, Jamie retreated into a small bedroom, leaving James and Elizabeth alone by the fire.

'Here, give me your shirt and waistcoat too, they've both got more holes in them,' ordered Elizabeth, holding out her hand with a troubled scowl. James sighed impatiently, then removed his waistcoat and shirt and handed them to Elizabeth, who blushed slightly at the sight of his bare chest. Taking a seat in a rocking chair by the fire, she pulled out a needle and thread and began to stitch the holes in the shirt neatly together, determinedly not looking at James.

'Thank you,' he said, coming to sit across from her in the other chair by the fire.

'Not at all,' she muttered, staring at the cloth as though the end result depended entirely on her constant attention. 'I'm a seamstress now – I do this for a living. Mending your clothes is no trouble at all.'

'Quite a different life from being a governor's daughter, I'd imagine,' said James, leaning back in his chair with a smile.

'It's actually quite nice, being able to support oneself. Rather liberating, if you know what I mean.'

'Yes,' James agreed. He watched her for a few seconds, the firelight casting flickering shadows across her face. 'What should I say if Jamie brings up Will tomorrow when you're not around?'

Elizabeth cut the thread and turned the shirt over. After a long pause, she finally looked up at James. 'I trust you to tell him as much as you decide he should be told,' she said quietly, before quickly going back to her sewing.

James stifled a yawn – in all his eagerness to see Elizabeth again, he had not realized how tired he was after two days of almost continuous sailing and swimming. Elizabeth, who had just finished mending his shirt, tossed it across the space between them.

'I think I should be getting to bed,' yawned James, pulling on the shirt. He stopped, realizing what an awkward position he had put her in by coming to her house uninvited, giving her no time to prepare an extra bed… James got up and headed for the door.

'Where are you going?' asked Elizabeth in alarm, able to look at him unabashedly again now that he was fully clothed.

James stopped in the doorframe. 'I, well, I didn't know exactly what the sleeping accommodations would be like if I stayed here,' he stammered, 'so I figured I should probably go out and find a place to sleep in the woods. Don't worry,' he added quickly, noting her startled look, 'it doesn't look like it will be raining tonight, and I've slept in far worse conditions before…' James scratched his chin, remembering the uncomfortable period of time he had spent sleeping on the streets after the hurricane, and after he left the Navy.

Elizabeth bit her lip as if she was about to say something, and finally nodded. 'You'll be back tomorrow, though?' she asked anxiously.

'Of course,' James assured her, smiling. 'We have to try to dress Jack up like a gentleman, don't we? I wouldn't miss it for the world.' He stepped out the door.

Elizabeth sank back into her chair, gazing out the window at the moon. A million thoughts were rushing through her mind, most of them regretful. From within her pocket, she pulled a small black book that had been given to her within a dream, and which she still carried with her wherever she went; she flipped through it, the flowing script within it familiar from countless readings, then slid it carefully back into the folds of her dress. With a sigh, she removed the key to the Dead Man's Chest from around her neck, and turned it over and over in her fingers, examining it without really noticing it, lost in a reverie. Finally, she rose to go to bed, placing the key on top of the chest before she left the room.


	22. Part III: Three Days to Live - One Day More

James woke early the next morning and lay with his eyes closed as he listened to the chirruping of the birds in the trees and the gurgling of the nearby brook. The earth beneath him smelled mossy and damp, and the tree branches above him swayed ever so slightly in the light breeze, the shadows they cast dancing across James's face.

Finally, James convinced himself to get up, and, after washing up in the creek, he made his way back to Elizabeth's cottage, tripping over a still-sleeping Jack as he did so.

'Oomf!' grunted Jack irritably as he opened one eye to find a disgruntled James sprawled on the ground before him. 'There are much less painful ways to wake someone up you know, mate.'

'I am well aware of that, Sparrow,' muttered James, still fighting to regain his wind.

'So, how'd it go last night?' said Jack, leaning forward with an eager smile.

James managed to sit up, frowning slightly. 'Oh, not bad,' he replied. 'I met her son, we talked a bit over dinner, she mended my shirt…' James shrugged.

'And then?' Jack pressed.

James gave Jack a look of confusion before realizing what he meant and flushing scarlet. 'There was no "and then," Mr Sparrow, and I'm shocked you would even have the nerve to think there might be.'

Jack raised his eyebrow, still grinning. 'You never know, mate. One day you might be able to discard that stuffy naval comportment for a few hours and actually get out and have some fun.' He jumped to his feet. 'So, what's dear Lizzie come up with for an escape plan? Hopefully nothing that involves anyone being eaten by giant, tentacled sea beasties…'

James shook his head, a slightly sadistic smile beginning to form on his lips. 'No, but it does involve you dressing in my clothes. Elizabeth's got my jacket and waistcoat, she was busy mending them last I saw her, but – ' His smirk widened, judging from the look on the pirate's face that Jack was not going to be at all pleased with what he had to say next. ' – I'm afraid that your trousers look entirely out of place for a man wearing an admiral's jacket, so you'll have to wear my breeches and stockings and shoes.'

Jack stared in horror at James's stockings for a second, then glanced up at James. 'Surely you're joking, mate?' he said, attempting to grin at the exasperated expression on James's face.

'No, I'm not, Sparrow, and unless you want everyone to recognize you instantly for being a pirate, I think you'd better go along with this. Just be grateful I'll be spending the rest of my money on buying you a passage aboard a ship, and not a wig to go along with the rest of the outfit.'

Jack glared at James. 'Fine, and I suppose I'll have to give you my trousers, then, eh? Unless, of course, you'd prefer to go back to Lizzie's without them?' He leered. James rolled his eyes, feeling his face flush again.

'Don't be stupid. Go wash up, now – I'll leave my breeches here, shall I, and I'd appreciate it if you'd do the same with your trousers for me after you've changed.'

Jack grinned. 'Making me wash up – you really are trying to turn me into a gentleman, aren't you, Norrie?' Before James could snap at him again, Jack was already striding off in the direction of the creek.

* * *

Less than ten minutes later, an irritated Jack and an equally irritated James stood on Elizabeth's doorstep.

'I feel ridiculous beyond the realms of description,' grumbled Jack, eyeing the breeches and stockings now covering his legs with utter distaste.

'Well at least I bathe once in a while,' snapped James, trying not to wonder how long it had been since Jack had last bothered to wash his trousers. He did have to admit that Jack's trousers and worn boots were far more comfortable than his breeches and shoes had ever been, but his train of thought was quickly diverted as Elizabeth opened the door.

'Good morning,' she said in a low voice, trying not to snort with laughter at the face that Jack was still making at his new apparel as she stepped out of the cottage and closed the door. 'Jamie is still asleep, and I don't want to wake him up… Jack, couldn't you trim your beard a bit? You look far too… too… pirate-y.' She threw her hands up in exasperation.

'Wonder why that could be?' snorted Jack sarcastically. 'And no, I will not trim my beard a bit – I like it just the way it is, thank you.'

'You know, I don't see how you managed to impersonate a cleric of the Church of England in the first place,' grumbled James, 'you seem far too reluctant to do anything that would make you blend in.'

'I'll have you know that I can act perfectly respectable and boring in a pinch if I need to,' said Jack, highly affronted at James's comment, 'and I did so then because it was a matter of survival!'

'So what do you call this, then?' snapped James acidly before Elizabeth hushed him angrily and gestured pointedly towards the closed door.

Jack opened his mouth, found nothing to say, and closed it. 'Point taken, mate,' he sighed. 'Give me the scissors, I'll chop the beard down a bit.'

Half an hour later, Jack had succeeded in cutting his beard down to a respectable length, Elizabeth had succeeded with difficulty in convincing him to wash off the mascara and eyeliner, and all three had figured out a way to hide Jack's dreadlocks beneath his hat (which Elizabeth fussed over for quite a while before deciding that it would have to do, albeit not exactly like a proper admiral's hat). Finally, after throwing Jack's real jacket into a sack along with his sword and compass (his pistol Elizabeth decided would cause no suspicion aboard a ship), Jack and Elizabeth were ready to go off to the port to look for a ship heading towards Tortuga.

'Well Jack,' said James, holding out a hand, 'as I doubt we will ever see each other again, best of luck to you and your crew – steer clear of the Becketts of the world, don't get captured, and so forth.' To his extreme surprise, James realized that although Jack Sparrow had done nothing but aggravate him since the first day they had met, he was going to miss the cheeky pirate and his nonchalant manner.

'Mr Norrington,' replied Jack in a serious, haughty voice most unlike his own, 'I thank you for your kind wishes.' He shook James's hand solemnly. James stared at him in bewildered amazement until Jack finally cracked a toothy grin. 'Couldn't resist, mate,' he said in his usual jaunty voice, 'that look on your face was priceless.'

'Yes, well,' said James, recovering from his surprise, 'I certainly believe you can get away with impersonating an admiral or anyone else now.'

'Learned said persona from watching the best,' Jack said, gesturing towards James. 'Word of advice, mate,' he said in a low voice, 'keep in mind that even for an outstanding gentleman such as yourself, it is occasionally all right to allow yourself a bit of freedom. Don't do anything stupid that you might regret later.' James scowled, but Jack only grinned again and, with a final wink, he said, 'Remember… pirate!' Then, turning on his heel, he walked to Elizabeth and offered her his arm in a most gentleman-like manner, which she accepted with a laugh, and the pair set off down the road to the village, Jack walking in a rimrod-straight fashion quite different from his usual swagger.

* * *

James watched the two retreating figures for a moment, and then went inside the cottage, where he found that Elizabeth had left him a plate of bacon and eggs for breakfast. He had barely finished eating and washing his plate off when the door of Jamie's bedroom opened and the young boy appeared, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

'Good morning,' said James. Jamie, catching sight of him, stopped rubbing his eyes and looked at James respectfully.

'Good morning,' he answered softly. Glancing at James as though afraid he would be intruding, Jamie crossed to the table, slid onto the bench, and began nibbling at his breakfast.

James suddenly felt rather awkward. He really had never been terribly good with children, and the fact that Jamie looked so much like a young Will Turner only made the situation more awkward. He began to think about possible topics for conversation, but was saved the trouble by Jamie.

'Those aren't the clothes you were wearing last night,' he commented.

'Oh, no, they're not,' said James hesitantly, wondering how he would be able to explain this without having to explain the fact that Jack Sparrow existed. 'I… well, my jacket was, you see, making me feel rather warm, so I took it off.' James felt like smacking himself in the face – he was sounding like an absolute idiot, and he really did want Elizabeth's son to like him.

Jamie, however, did not seem to have noticed James's disjointed response. 'Is it really true you used to be an admiral?' he asked, trying to sound casual and failing.

James smiled inwardly – once upon a time, he remembered having had the same eagerness in his voice every time he met a naval officer. 'Yes, I was,' he said. 'And your mother tells me you're considering a similar career.'

Jamie nodded, blushing slightly. After a long moment of staring at his plate, he finally looked back up at James, who was waiting patiently for the boy to reply. 'D'you… d'you think you could teach me how to swordfight?' he asked quickly in an embarrassed voice. 'Mum started teaching me a long time ago, but she has so much work to do nowadays, and I really want to learn, I'd be good at it, I know…'

James laughed. 'I'd be glad to work with you a bit,' he said, again reminded of his own enthusiasm for fencing as a boy. 'Finish up your breakfast while I look for some sticks for us to use.'

Jamie's face shone with excitement. 'Thank you, Mr Norrington!' he said breathlessly before continuing to eat at a much accelerated rate.

'My pleasure,' answered James, stopping on the doorstep. 'And, please, just call me James.'

* * *

Elizabeth returned from the docks at half past noon to find James and Jamie fencing on the beach down below the house.

'All right, now if I lunge like this, you have to parry my sword… like that,' James instructed the young boy, standing by his side and demonstrating the parry in slow motion. He had securely wrapped the ends of two nearly-straight branches in cloth to avoid any injuries, recalling only too clearly the last time he had been impaled upon a piece of wood. Jamie imitated James, frowning slightly in concentration. 'Good, but watch out for feints – if I feint like so, and you make as if to parry, you'll leave yourself completely off-balance.'

'Watch your footwork,' advised Elizabeth, walking down the hill and onto the shore with a smile on her face. James stopped mid-parry and, excusing himself from Jamie's presence for a moment, went over to talk to Elizabeth.

'Well?' he asked in a low voice.

'Managed to get him a passage on a merchant ship. He kept up the admiral façade extremely well, surprisingly enough, although I did have to stop him from nicking a few purses while we were walking through town…' Elizabeth sighed slightly in a mixture of amusement and exasperation. 'Don't worry about Jack, he'll be able to work his way out of any scrapes if he needs to,' she added, seeing the concerned look on James's face. 'Now I have work to do, so you can go back to your fencing, and please, make sure neither of you lose an eye…'

James chuckled. 'You've become such a mother, Elizabeth. I promise you, no one will lose an eye – I don't think that either of us would look very good with a wooden one anyway…'

He retreated back to where Jamie was waiting as Elizabeth aimed a halfhearted kick at him.

'Sorry about that, now where were we…?'

'Are you my father?' asked Jamie quite abruptly. James gaped for a few seconds, then laughed.

'No, of course not – why would you think that?'

Jamie shrugged. 'The way Mum looks at you – it's the same look that's on her face every time she mentions my father.' James became aware that his heart was beating rather fast, and his stomach was beginning to flip-flop. 'Sometimes I see her staring out the window at the sea, sighing, and it's that same look on her face. Just thought I'd ask.' Jamie glanced up at James with a curious expression on his face. 'You don't know my father, do you?'

'I did, in fact,' said James quietly. 'I first met him when he was only a few years older than you are now.'

Jamie opened his mouth, closed it as if afraid to ask the question he wanted to ask, and finally whispered, 'Was he a pirate?'

James did not know how to respond, but then he saw the trepidation in the boy's eyes, and realized that Jamie was terrified that James would say yes. 'He was a blacksmith,' replied James somewhat stiffly, reasoning that it was not a lie. 'When I was promoted to commodore, he made for me one of the most beautiful swords I had ever seen, at your grandfather's request. That sword became one of my most prized possessions, and it served me well in many battles, including one time when I had to fight some bloodthirsty pirates who had kidnapped your mother. And your father too, come to think of it,' added James. His mind wandered briefly back to the look in Elizabeth's eyes as she agreed to marry him if he agreed to rescue Will from Barbossa and his crew.

'What happened to it?' whispered Jamie, awestruck. James pulled himself out of his memories and looked down in amusement at Jamie's eager face.

'I left it stuck in the chest of the most cruel and heartless pirate captain I have ever met, and I never got it back.' James was careful to leave out the fact that he had been the one who died during that encounter, and not the heartless pirate captain.

Jamie gave a soft sigh of longing. 'One day, I want to be just like you, James,' he confided, 'stopping all the piracy on the seas, protecting the interests and lives of the citizens of England living in the Caribbean, sailing to far off lands, gaining fame and honor…' His voice trailed off as Jamie became lost in his fantasies.

James smiled sadly, then knelt down so that his face was level with Jamie's.

'James William Turner,' he said in a soft but serious voice, 'I want to give you some advice, and I hope you'll listen. When I was your age, and indeed when I first became an officer, I felt exactly the same way that you do about serving in His Majesty's Navy, and I assure you, you have all the right principles down by heart. But I want you to remember this: the time may come when you must choose between what the law dictates, and what your conscience tells you is right. Remember that a pirate can be a good man, just as surely as a lord can be a lying scoundrel at heart.'

'But…' Jamie gave James a confused look. 'But pirates kill people, and sack towns, and…'

'I agree completely, they do,' said James hastily, 'and when they do you must do your best to stop them, as duty says you must. What I am trying to say is that you must learn to recognise good men from bad ones, and you cannot let a man's station in life or even your own sense of honor get in the way of doing what you know is right. Do you understand?'

'I-I think so,' said Jamie in a very uncertain manner.

James sighed. 'All right, Jamie, I'm going to tell you a story, but you have to promise me that you won't tell your mother I told you.' Jamie nodded in agreement, eyes wide. 'When pirates kidnapped your mother, and then your father, there was one pirate who joined with us to rescue them, because even though he was a pirate, he was a good man. Your parents then convinced me to let him go free, even though it was my duty to hang him for being a pirate. As a result, the man who was in charge of the East India Trading Company at the time declared that your parents and myself were pirates, just because we had shown mercy to the man who had saved your parents' lives. Keep in mind that this man was a lord, and a respected British citizen, yet he refused to see that this pirate was a good man who deserved to live, and he tried to destroy everyone who saw otherwise – your parents, myself, even your poor grandfather who never harmed a soul but was murdered because he refused to let a good man go to the gallows. That's why I am no longer an admiral, because I could not serve under a man who saw people only as what they were, not as who they were.'

Jamie looked at James for a long moment. Finally, he took a deep breath and said, 'I think I understand now. And I promise that even if I become an admiral, I'll judge everyone I meet based on who they are, and not by the colours they fly under.'

James grinned, and clapped Jamie on the shoulder as he rose to his feet. 'And a fine admiral I'm sure you'll make – now, let's work on those lunges, shall we?'


	23. Part III: Three Days to Live - Choices

Jamie talked animatedly about the Navy throughout dinner that night, obviously quite at ease around James at this point. They had fenced through most of the afternoon before returning to the cottage, exhausted, and James had to admit that the boy showed a remarkable aptitude for the art. As he listened to Jamie tell his mother about the various feints and riposte techniques he had learned from James that afternoon, James could not help wonder if he had done the right thing in telling Jamie about Jack and Beckett – the boy's determination to become an admiral did not seem to have lessened, but James had a feeling that Elizabeth would never forgive him if his story propelled Jamie into a life of piracy at some later date.

By the time dinner was over, Jamie was trying his hardest not to yawn widely every few minutes, and even James felt as if a large amount of his energy had been leeched out by the hot Caribbean sun.

'Jamie,' said Elizabeth sternly as Jamie clapped his hand over his mouth once again to stifle a yawn, 'you're exhausted. You should go to bed so you're not tired for your lessons tomorrow.'

'But Mum,' whined Jamie, 'James is leaving tonight, isn't he? And I want to be able to say goodbye.'

Elizabeth glanced up at James, something akin to pain glinting in her eyes. 'Well then, say goodbye now, and then go to bed,' she said softly, looking down at her son. Pouting, Jamie slid off the end of the bench he was sitting on and walked around the table to where James sat, serenely watching.

'Goodbye, James,' said Jamie, holding out a small hand for James to shake. 'Thank you for everything.' After a moment's hesitation, he leaned forward and whispered in James's ear. 'I-I want you to know that I won't forget what you told me either, as long as I live. I promise. And, also, I'm proud to be named after you.'

For some odd reason, James felt tears spring into his eyes. He had grown quite fond of Jamie in the few hours he had spent with him – James could have reasoned with himself that it was because the boy was Elizabeth's son, and he therefore felt he _had_ to like him, but he also knew that the boy reminded him so much of himself. He thought back on Jamie's question earlier, about whether or not James was his father, and found himself wishing that he could have said yes truthfully. With a slight smile, James pulled the boy into his arms, embracing him as though he was his own son, and not Will Turner's.

'It's been a true pleasure getting to know you, Jamie,' said James, pulling away and looking at the boy. 'I can tell you will grow up to be just as honorable as your parents, and you will make a fine admiral one day, if your fencing ability says anything about you.'

Jamie glowed with pride and looked as if he was about to reply, when suddenly Elizabeth put a hand on his shoulder.

'Bed,' she said in an oddly constricted voice, and ignoring the sour looks Jamie threw at her, she steered her son to his bedroom and, giving him a kiss, shut the door. For a moment she slumped against the door, her eyes closed, looking as weary as if the whole world had just dropped onto her shoulders – then, with a great sigh, she began to clean the dishes.

James too sighed, and stood up, crossing over to the mantle piece and leaning his arm on it, staring broodingly into the flames. He felt his hand brush something cold and metallic…

'Do you really have to leave tonight?' Elizabeth asked abruptly, not looking at James.

He sighed, turning away from the fireplace. 'You know I have no choice, Elizabeth,' he said gently.

She turned to him, her eyes filled with tears. 'You fit in too well here,' she said accusingly, throwing down the rag she had been drying the plates with and storming out the door. James, bewildered, followed her a few moments later.

* * *

Elizabeth stopped in a clearing in the woods surrounding her home, brushing tears impatiently from her cheeks as she did so. James stopped behind her and put a hand on her shoulder comfortingly.

'Elizabeth…'

'James, _why_?!' she asked, turning towards him. 'Why do you have to walk in and make it seem like everything will be all right? You and Jamie, you get along so well, I… I almost wished that you were his father, and that you could stay and…' She paused, and then continued on in a low voice. 'James, I don't want tomorrow to come.'

James looked at her face, shadowy in the light of the full moon. 'But… Will…?'

Elizabeth gave a shaky laugh that carried no mirth within it. 'Yes, Will,' she said bitterly. 'Will whom I haven't seen in ten years, Will who always cared more about being a pirate than he did about me, Will who won't be able to understand what I've been through without him. Can't you see, James, you're the only one who understands me, who knows everything about me and still loves me for who I am?' There was something like a touch of desperation in her voice. 'If you still love me, that is?' she added quietly, the vulnerable tone of her voice nearly breaking his heart.

Before James knew what he was doing, his arms were around her, and he was kissing her with a fiery passion unlike any he had ever allowed himself to express before. Her lips were soft, moldable, yielded to his fierce but gentle mouth; his hand was in the curve of her back, grasping the silky hair that cascaded down nearly to her waist; his other hand fumbled at the lacings of her dress…

'No!' said James, wrenching himself away and staggering a few steps backwards, panting slightly. He closed his eyes, every muscle in his body tensed, suspended between his conscience and his wild desire.

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow at him, seemingly completely unfazed by what had just happened. 'And that's where you always stop, James,' she sighed sadly, 'always too much the gentleman to go any further.'

'It wouldn't be proper,' muttered James in a hollow voice, staring at the ground. 'You're married, and your husband's coming back tomorrow – why should you want me, then?'

Elizabeth gently tilted his chin so that his gaze met hers. 'Because I love you, James,' she whispered. 'I never realized it until it was too late, but I have always loved you, and I always will.'

So that was it. James flinched, backing away. 'I will not allow you to foolishly squander your fidelity to make me feel better about things that are best forgotten,' he snapped.

'But I won't ever be able to forget, James,' she countered, breathing hard. 'I know I've caused you pain, more pain than you have ever deserved – I could see it in your eyes when I accepted your proposal and you knew it was not because I loved you, and again when I chose Will over you, and again and again when we sailed out of Tortuga together. It's not fair to you, and it's not fair to me.' She took a deep breath. 'I made my choice a long time ago, and I now regret it. James, show me that you really do love me, let me have some of the happiness that I so foolishly turned down so many years ago.' Her face was so close to his that James could feel her soft breaths tickle his skin. 'I promise I won't hurt you again,' she whispered.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembered what Sparrow had whispered to him only that morning… _Word of advice, mate, keep in mind that even for an outstanding gentleman such as yourself, it is occasionally all right to allow yourself a bit of freedom_ …

With a shy grin, James gently pulled Elizabeth towards him and gave her a long, slow, passionate kiss. When they finally broke apart, Elizabeth smiled and nuzzled her face in the crook of his neck.

'Pirate,' she whispered in his ear, and, just to make her stop teasing him, he found it quite necessary to kiss her again.

* * *

The sky was on the verge of beginning to brighten when James finally came to his senses in a moment that struck like a bolt of lightning.

'I have to go,' he said suddenly, breaking away from Elizabeth's embrace.

'Yes, I thought so,' said Elizabeth with a heavy sigh. 'Will I see you again?'

He glanced at her – her eyes were steady but he could see the fear flickering in their midst. 'No,' he said, the truth piercing him worse than any sword could. Tears sprang to Elizabeth's eyes, and once more she buried herself in James's arms for a moment that felt like eternity.

'I love you,' she said in a barely audible voice. In reply, he gave her one last kiss, bittersweet and soft.

'I'll walk you back home,' he whispered. She nodded and, without looking at him, slowly turned and headed back through the trees.

At Elizabeth's door, they said their final goodbyes, James brushing his lips briefly on Elizabeth's hand (when not shielded by the woods, he could not bring himself to do anything more). Smiling sadly, Elizabeth quickly patted her hair back into place, and with a last look at James, went inside, closing the door behind her. James stood for a long moment looking at the place where she had disappeared; then, with a great effort, he bent down and pulled from within a bucket under the windowsill the heart that he had taken from its chest and hidden there on his way out the door. He too had made his choice, and whatever scrap of honor he had left would not let him turn away from it.

* * *

Half an hour later, James stood on the beach, gazing out at the horizon. He could almost imagine he had seen Elizabeth and Jamie standing up on the cliffs above him, their eyes also trained on the spot where the sun was about to rise. A sudden flash blinding green light accompanied the rising sun as it finally began to slide over the edge of the sea, but James's attention was fixed on the towering ship that had appeared out of nowhere and was sailing towards him, silhouetted dramatically against the blood-red sun.

He could hear the shouts of the men as they dropped the anchor by the shore, could almost make out the excited chattering of the sailors as they discussed what they wanted to do with their one day of freedom. The sea air whipped through James's hair, and he found himself wondering if it was really so bad, sailing the seas forever, surrounded by the caws of seagulls and the slap of the waves against the hull of the ship. It was past time for speculation, though. Many of the sailors had already jumped joyously onto the beach, and Will Turner himself had just stepped onto the shore, bandanna still wrapped about his forehead, the sword he had made for James hanging at his side.

'Turner,' said James, stepping forward.

'Norrington,' stammered Will after a moment of shocked silence. 'What did… how…?'

'I have no time to explain, Turner, and even if I did, you're too honorable of a man to accept what I am about to do.' Behind Will, James could just see Calypso smiling eerily in the pale morning light.

'What are you talking about?' said Will warily.

James leaned forward. 'Take care of Elizabeth,' he murmured so that only Will could hear him, and, before Will could react, James pulled his sword from where it hung at Will's side, threw Will's heart onto the sand, and stabbed it.


	24. Part III: Three Days to Live - The Captain of the Flying Dutchman

Elizabeth and Jamie had started down towards the beach the moment they saw the _Flying Dutchman_ appear on the horizon. Elizabeth could feel her heart pounding as she stumbled down the steep hillsides, and was not sure if it was from running or from nerves. Jamie was wearing a look of excited bewilderment – she knew that he was still trying to figure out if the ship that had appeared with the green flash had really appeared out of nowhere, or if he had just not spotted it before.

When the pair arrived, panting, on the beach, however, Elizabeth was shocked to find that the _Dutchman_ was nowhere to be seen. She peered up and down the shoreline in bewilderment, trying to figure out what had happened, when a hand on her shoulder made her turn.

'Will!' she gasped, staring into her husband's warm brown eyes for the first time in ten years. With a shy smile, he leaned forward and kissed her – after a moment's hesitation, she yielded to his embrace.

'Will, this is Jamie,' she said, breaking away from the kiss and beckoning their son forward. Jamie looked up at the man he so resembled and said softly, 'Hello, Dad.'

'Elizabeth…' whispered Will, looking from his son to his wife in growing delight before kneeling down and hugging his son to him for the first time. 'You named him James?' asked Will as he rose to his feet, his hand still on Jamie's shoulder.

Elizabeth nodded. 'James William Turner,' she explained, a warning glance cutting off the next question Will was about to ask. 'I thought that "William Turner III" was a bit much.'

'I agree,' rasped a familiar voice from behind Will.

'Bootstrap?' said Elizabeth in surprise as her father-in-law stepped forward and took her hand in his.

'Elizabeth,' he replied. 'Glad to finally get the chance to meet you.'

'We've met before…' Elizabeth reminded him, stiffening at the memory.

'Aye,' sighed Bootstrap, 'but I wouldn't want you to remember me for those moments. I wasn't in my right mind, I did a terrible thing that I never would have done otherwise…'

'Yes, I know.' Shaking all memories of that night from her head, Elizabeth managed to smile at Bootstrap, before turning back to Will. 'Will, what happened to the _Dutchman_? Will she be returning for you?'

A strange look flashed in Will's eyes, and he shook his head slowly. 'No, she won't be. I won't have to leave at the end of this day, Elizabeth, I won't have to ever leave you again. I'm no longer the captain of the _Flying Dutchman_.'

Elizabeth's eyes widened in shock. 'What?!'

Will nodded. 'He stabbed my heart,' he said, more to himself than to Elizabeth. 'But instead of dying, Calypso brought me back to life.'

'James?' Elizabeth whispered. When Will nodded, she felt her legs weaken beneath her, and she clung to Will for support, letting the tears course down her face as she realized the sacrifice James had made for her, to end the conflicted feelings she felt in her heart. Will, although not understanding exactly why she was so upset, held her close to him and let her grieve.

'What will you do?' she asked finally, looking up at Will through glistening eyes.

Will shrugged. 'Open up a blacksmith forge again, I suppose. I've had quite enough of pirates to last me a lifetime.' He turned to Jamie, drawing forth the sword he had made for James Norrington so many years ago. 'This is for you,' he said, placing it in Jamie's hands. 'I asked Norrington if he wanted it back, and he said that I should take it, there was someone on shore who would probably want it more.' Jamie stammered his thanks, still staring in startled excitement at the sword he now gripped.

Elizabeth smiled at her son, then took Will's hand in her own and began to lead him up the shore, Jamie following slowly behind. 'Let's go home,' she said simply. 'Bootstrap?'

The old pirate was gazing at the family with sadness in his eyes. 'I can't come with you,' he said. 'I've lived far past my time, and only came ashore to meet my grandson and to wish you two well.' He sighed. 'I'm ready to go now, William. I think I've paid my debt to you, and the Waters of Oblivion wait.'

'Father…' said Will, striding back to where the old man stood and embracing him. 'I'll miss you.'

Bootstrap smiled. 'Best of luck to you, my boy.' He stepped backwards into the sea just as a wave crashed over him, and was gone.

Will sighed, and turned to where his family was waiting. The sight of them, the knowledge that he once again had a home and a family, caused happiness that he had long forgotten existed to well up inside Will. His brown eyes warmly glowing, he again took Elizabeth's hand, and allowed her to lead him to the place that he would finally be able to call home.

* * *

The bottom of the sun was scraping the horizon when the last of the _Dutchman's_ crew clambered aboard the ship, excitedly comparing stories of what had befallen them on their day on land. As the ship turned and sailed towards the setting sun, only one figure was not taking part in the boisterous laughter of the crew. The _Dutchman's_ new captain was leaning against the railing of the ship, staring wistfully off across the sea. His crew had decided to go to Tortuga after they left the island on which the Turners lived, and James, not wanting to get on bad terms with his crew on his first day as captain, let them go ashore with good grace, opting to stay in his cabin and mull over his thoughts.

'Captain Norrington?' said a voice behind him – James turned to see one of his new crewmembers standing anxiously behind him. 'Sir, most of the crew have decided to stay on with you, but Bootstrap Bill is gone.'

James nodded. 'I gave him leave to go.'

'Well, sir,' continued the young sailor, bobbing up and down slightly on his toes, 'the problem is, we now have no helmsman.'

'True,' replied James with a slight frown. 'Well, since we have need of a new helmsman, would you like the position?'

The sailor smiled nervously. 'Really, sir?'

'Really. May I ask for your name?'

'Robert Green, sir. I used to be helmsman, sir, with my old crew, before we went down in a storm about two years ago, sir.' He stopped bouncing for a moment and leaned forward as if he was about to tell a secret. 'Truth is, sir, I told myself that if Captain Turner was ever replaced, I'd go and drink from the Waters, sir, as Captain Turner was the best captain I could ever imagine having, but, even so, sir, you seem like a good enough captain, so I'll be staying on until I see fit to leave, if ever, sir. Were you ever a captain when you were alive, sir?'

James blinked. 'Oh, yes, yes I was,' he said. 'Commodore and admiral, too.'

Green smiled in delight. 'An admiral! Well then, sir, I'll wager you'll be a good captain indeed, sir.'

'Thank you,' said James weakly, hoping very much that he'd be able to live up to Will's high standards. 'Well, to your position, Mr Green.'

Smiling and bouncing up and down with excitement, Green rushed over to the helm. Rubbing his temples and hoping that no one else would feel the need to talk to him for some time, James told his lieutenant that he was feeling a bit under the weather due to the fact that his heart had just been cut out that morning, and excused himself, leaving the lieutenant in charge for the night. As he started down the stairs to the cabins, James felt the ship dive down to the netherworld in a bright flash of green light.

It was strange not having a heart. James knew he was still breathing, but missed the familiar rhythmic pulse that usually accompanied it. He had hoped that without his heart his emotions would have lessened, but found to his chagrin that this was not so – every time he was foolish enough to let his mind drift towards thoughts of Elizabeth, he felt a pang that almost made him wish that he had chosen the easy route and drunken from the Waters of Oblivion. It was hard knowing that he would never see her again… or only see her once more, James corrected himself, when it became his task to ferry her to the Locker. He briefly entertained the idea that she might join his crew, but knew that it was an unrealistic, fleeting hope – she would be older, her love for him would have faded with the passion that youth allows, her heart would have returned completely to Will and he, James, would be nothing but a distant memory. Sighing, James pushed open the first set of doors he came to and found himself in the room where Davy Jones had kept his organ.

James had to give it to Will – he had kept the whole ship much cleaner than Jones had. The walls of the ship were once again plain, clean wood, the sails were a standard white and void of strands of kelp. Likewise, the organ was no longer covered in seaweed and other aquatic creatures – it had reverted back to a deep, glossy wood, and its pipes were a polished silver. Still thinking of Elizabeth, James pushed open the lid of the organ and absentmindedly played a scale, somewhat regretful that he had forgotten every single piece he had learned on his mother's clavichord as a boy. Doubting that he would find anything, James opened the seat of the bench and found inside of it a single sheet of music written in a thin, spindly hand that James did not recognize. _For Calypso_ , it said at the top. James closed the bench and slid onto it, placing the music on the organ. Taking a deep breath, he began to play.

The music filled the room with a powerful grief, the kind of mournful longing that could bring a person to tears. James thought that the wistful melody sounded a bit harsh on the organ – it would have better suited a delicate instrument, like a music box. He worked his way through it once, and stopped, hoping his playing had not bothered anyone.

For some reason, James felt slightly better, as if the music had turned the loneliness and sorrow he was feeling into something tangible; he was a bit surprised that a man like Davy Jones could have been capable of feeling such pain and turning it into such wonderful music, but then again, he had cut out his heart to try to rid himself of that pain. James shook himself. He knew that he would have to focus on the task at hand, and not Elizabeth, unless he wanted his despair and grief to seize control and force him to do angry, vengeful things. Just as Davy Jones had done. Just as James himself had once done. He knew it would take time to come to terms with his loss, to the fact that Elizabeth was not his and never would be, but he was willing to try, willing to overcome the lonely years that lay ahead, armed with nothing but a promise and the memory of a freely given kiss.

James placed his hands back on the keys of the organ. He was not very good at sight-reading, but he had an eternity aboard this ship to learn to play the piece right. The sounds of his crew shouting and joking wafted faintly down from the deck, and James resolved to acquaint himself with them all the next day, to earn their trust and their respect over time, and hopefully to one day be as highly regarded as even Captain Will Turner had been. With the ghost of a smile on his face, James began to play. _For you, Elizabeth_ , he thought, and allowed himself to be swept up into the music.


End file.
